


Three's a Charm

by lusilly



Category: Glee
Genre: (In a threeway), Blaine Has BPD, Blaine's NYADA Audition, Boys In Love, Christian Sam, Dyslexia, Emotional Intimacy, Exploration, Falling In Love, Feelings, Gen, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Skype, Skype Sex, Social Justice, Teenage Dorks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:19:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 62,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4897891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusilly/pseuds/lusilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam confronted Blaine about being his guilty pleasure, he wasn't freaked out at all. In fact, he was kind of into it. Kurt is still nervous about being sexual with Blaine, so when Blaine tells him about Sam, he gets an idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lights, Camera, Action

**Author's Note:**

> fix-it fic that really kind of got out of hand lmao. should be retitled "Your Unproblematic Favs" because honestly.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, Klaine hasn't Done It yet (even though we're well into season 4 chronologically). I always liked sexually reticent Kurt and I never felt like he was given the fleshing-out he deserved in that regard.
> 
> The timeline is fudged just a little bit, but whatever, not like Glee sticks to its own canon anyway.

            “I mean, everybody seems to be having so much fun with them out on the table. Maybe life’s just better this way.”

            “I don’t know about that. I think if we always indulged ourselves in that kind of thing, I think we’d make a lot of people pretty uncomfortable.”

            “You don’t have to be uncomfortable. Dude, it’s okay. I get it. Your guilty pleasure is me. I mean I’ve known all year and frankly, I’m an attractive guy, and you are into dudes, and if you weren’t into me I’d probably be pretty offended.”

            “You’re not freaked out? Because I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship. I mean, you’ve been there for me through this whole thing with Kurt-”

            “Okay, stop, nothing’s gonna change. I trust you, and you know, to tell you the truth the attention feels…kinda good. It’s flattering.”

            Sam paused for a moment, lips purse as if considering something. Then he grinned at Blaine.

            “I’m kind of into it,” he said.

\---

            “You know, all things considered,” said Blaine, lying on the floor in a sleeping bag, propped up on his elbows watching the credits rolling on the TV screen, “that was not a terrible movie.”

            Underneath covers on the couch, Sam let out a loud buzzer noise. “Nope, sorry,” he said. “Your geek card is revoked. _The Phantom Menace_ is an insult to a cinematic legacy.”

            “Oh, sure, says the guy who loved _Star Trek_ 2009.”

            “ _Star Trek_ was a great movie!”

            “It made no sense! Romulus wasn’t going to explode for another hundred and fifty years, why didn’t Nero just do something to save his planet rather than execute a dastardly plot to punish Spock for something that hadn’t even happened yet!”

            “Oh my God, Blaine, how many times do I have to explain this to you? If he did that it’d close the time loop and make it so he never went back to save them to begin with. Romulus was toast either way but at least this way Nero got his sweet revenge.”

            “Sweet, genocidal revenge.” Blaine got up to take the DVD out of the machine. “Besides,” he added, “Nero could’ve just, like, left a message for his future self so he and his family would survive-”

            “That’s not the point,” sighed Sam, closing his eyes and laying back on the couch. About to pop _Attack of the Clones_ into the DVD player, Blaine hesitated, checking the time. It was already past two AM.

            “Are you tired?” asked Blaine.

            “I could sleep.”

            Blaine took that as a yes. He turned the TV off and slid back into his Spider-Man sleeping bag (Blaine didn’t even like Spider-Man that much, but his parents had gotten it for him for Christmas one year, with an enthusiastic little “You like superheroes, right?”).

            “Goodnight Sam,” said Blaine.

            Sam grunted in reply.

            Blaine closed his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. This was their third movie sleepover in a month; they’d started with a _Game of Thrones_ marathon (“Oh my God, this is like a porn,” Sam had said, riveted), then the Lord of the Rings trilogy (eyes glued to Viggo Mortensen, Blaine had been unable to stop himself from mumbling, “Aragorn is so hot,” to which Sam had replied heartily, “I _know_ , right?”), and now they’d gotten most of the way through Star Wars, although Blaine wouldn’t complain if they never got around to _Attack of the Clones_ or _Revenge of the Sith_. It was enough that they were hanging out, spending time together outside of school. Sometimes Blaine felt like McKinley was, without Kurt, only half a home, somewhere he stayed in body but not in mind. Hanging out with Sam kept that feeling at bay.

            Just as Blaine snuggled into his sleeping bag, taking hold of his pillow, Sam spoke up.

            “Hey.”

            Blaine glanced up at the couch. Sam poked his face off the edge. “What?” asked Blaine.

            “We should watch _Magic Mike_.”

            Blaine rolled his eyes and swung his pillow at Sam’s face. “That’s not funny.”

            “It’s super funny. It’s your bro’s big break! You should be happy for him!”

            “I am,” said Blaine. “But I’d prefer not to have to witness my brother rubbing his junk all over women’s bodies.”

            “Ah, that’s not what strippers do, man. Is that what you think strippers do? Hey, is that why you don’t like that movie?”

            “Is what why?”

            “Because it’s about strippers.”

            “No,” said Blaine, looking up at Sam. “I just said, that’s more of my brother than I ever need to see.”

            “But you don’t like strippers.”

            “I have nothing against strippers.”

            “Uh-uh,” said Sam, giving Blaine a knowing look. “Remember that time you freaked out because you didn’t want to do the White Chocolate body roll?”

            Blaine looked at Sam for a moment.

            “That wasn’t about stripping,” he said. “I was mad at Finn.”

            “About what?”

            “I don’t know, I just kind of wanted him to like me. Moving schools was tough.”

            “Yeah. I get that. I was the new kid once, too.”

            Blaine felt a sudden bloom of embarrassment; it wasn’t fair of him to complain to Sam, who’d had to move out of necessity, for his parents’ work. Blaine had made the decision to leave Dalton (Dalton, a private school Sam’s family could never afford) because he wanted to – because of a boy. Their experiences weren’t remotely the same.

            “Still,” added Sam, “you almost hit me, man. You remember that? No way that was just regular old new-kid angst. That was personal.”

            Blaine didn’t answer immediately. Dodging the question a little, he gave a sly smile and asked, “Why do you sound so surprised that I almost fought you? I founded the Dalton Fight Club, I could take you.”

            “To Fight Club?” Sam sounded ecstatic.

            “I meant in a fight. But I guess we could try to set up a McKinley branch? Although if you still want to be a model, it’s probably not a good idea. Don’t want to bust up that pretty face.”

            “True,” said Sam. “You did Fight Club and you’re still pretty, though.”

            “Thanks, bro. I’m not completely unblemished though.” He tapped a spot on his forehead, a little pockmarked slash of a scar.

            “Hey,” laughed Sam, then he bunched up the covers around his face to make a beard. “ _You’re a wizard, Blaine_.”

            Grinning, Blaine explained, “Split my head open on a vintage curio cabinet. Eight stitches.”

            “Damn!”

            “That’s nothing; you should’ve seen the curio.”

            They laughed, even though Sam wasn’t sure what a curio cabinet was. “Seriously, though,” continued Sam. “You seemed so messed up about being sexy.”

            “I’m not,” said Blaine, too quickly. “I wasn’t.”

            There was an awkward kind of pause.

            “Can I ask you something weird?” asked Sam.

            “Because asking what my problem is with strippers wasn’t weird enough?”

            “This is weirder.”

            Blaine lay back on his pillow, looking up at the dark ceiling above them. “Shoot.”

            “Have you and Kurt, like…done the nasty yet?”

            Blaine glanced at him. “Are you calling it nasty because it’s gay sex?”

            “No! I’d call straight sex nasty too. It’s like, a metaphor.”

            Blaine tried not to give a little laugh, but couldn’t help it. “Kind of,” he answered.

            “Kind of?”

            “Kind of.”

            There was a pause. “Butt stuff?”

            Blaine couldn’t help but smile. “No,” he said. “Not yet.”

            “Mouth stuff?”

            “No.”

            “Hand stuff? Or is there, like, another way of doing it that doesn’t involve butts, mouths, or hands? I don’t know.”

            “What? No. I mean – yes,” he said, with what might’ve been a hint of pride. “We have done…hand stuff. Thanks for asking.”

            “Nice,” said Sam, grinning. He reached out a fist for Blaine to bump, which he did. “But you guys have been together for, like, two years now. Are you like…not into that stuff?”

            “I am,” said Blaine. “I did, you know…cheat, that one time. The sexy kind of cheating.”

            “Cheating is never sexy,” said Sam solemnly.

            Blaine glanced at him uncertainly. “I mean…he and I, his name was Eli – we did…mouth stuff.”

            “Butt stuff?” asked Sam, sounding genuinely intrigued.

            “Kind of?” answered Blaine, wondering how to explain the concept of a rim job without freaking Sam out. “I think I’m saving my butt for Kurt, to be honest. I want it to be special, with him, when we do it. Also,” said Blaine, craning his neck to peer at Sam skeptically, “you seem awful interested in ‘butt stuff’ for someone who doesn’t even know how it works.”

            “I know how it works,” piped Sam. “I’ve seen gay porn.”

            Blaine blinked at him, then laid back down. “Oh.”

            “So,” continued Sam, “if you’re into that stuff, but you and Kurt aren’t doing it…does that mean _he’s_ not into it?”

            Blaine considered this. “I think he is,” he said honestly. “But he’s really shy about it, and I don’t mind so much. I love him a lot and I really want him to be comfortable. If he’s not having fun, I’m not, so I don’t want to pressure him.”

            “Cool,” said Sam. “Consent is sexy.”

            “Consent is necessary,” corrected Blaine mildly.

            There was another pause. Blaine’s eyelids were heavy, and he closed them, nestled warmly into a sleeping bag on the floor of his living room.

            Sam spoke once more. “You know, he definitely had a thing for me.”

            “What?”

            “Kurt. He was into me.”

            “I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

            “Isn’t that so funny?” Sam laughed. “Both you and Kurt like me. I’m like the straight filling in a little gay sandwich. Together we’re Kublam.”

            Blaine couldn’t hold back a laugh either. “I like Blamurt, personally. Also,” he added, “I thought you said you were thinking that maybe, like…you’re not exactly one hundred percent straight?”

            Sam didn’t answer. Blaine had opened his eyes, and was staring up at the ceiling in the darkness. Sam had lain his head back down on the couch, possibly doing the same thing. It was so long before Sam spoke again that Blaine almost thought he might’ve fallen asleep.

            “I don’t know,” he admitted, finally. “I’ve never really thought about it. I know for sure I like girls, so I thought that answered that question.”

            “But you can like girls, and people of other genders too,” added Blaine, maybe a second too quickly. “Bisexual, pansexual, there’s all kinds of words for people who love regardless of gender.”

            “Pansexual?” asked Sam, and Blaine could hear the smile on his mouth. “Is that when you’re hot for that creepy hand-eye thing in _Pan’s Labyrinth_?”

            “What? No, Sam, it’s not. That thing is terrifying, nobody’s hot for that.”

            “Hey, don’t kinkshame, bro.”

            Blaine grinned, then scooted over and propped his chin up on his hands again to look up at Sam. “Look, you’ve always been really secure in your sexuality, so stop me if I’m projecting – it’s okay if you are straight, Sam, don’t let me make you uncomfortable about this – but you know you can talk to me about whatever. This,” Blaine gestured between them, “is a safe space.” Sam met Blaine’s gaze, but didn’t speak. He didn’t look scared, per se, but there was something there that Blaine wasn’t used to seeing on his friend’s face. Hesitance. Uncertainty. When Sam did not speak, Blaine continued cautiously. “So you definitely like girls. Have you ever felt attracted to a guy?”

            “I don’t know,” said Sam seriously. “I mean I know when I see a good-looking guy, and I popped a boner during that scene in _Magic Mike_ when your brother wears a banana hammock, but-”

            “Okay, all right,” said Blaine, rolling his eyes. Sam laughed. “I can see you’re not being serious about this, so we might as well-”

            “No, no, hold on,” said Sam, still grinning. “Dude, Blaine. Okay. I’ll be serious.”

            Blaine, skeptical of this, said nothing.

            Sam ventured, “Harrison Ford, maybe?”

            “Harrison Ford what?”

            “Was the first dude that I maybe, like…thought was hot?”

            “All right, but that’s not fair,” said Blaine with a sigh. “Even straight guys think Han Solo is hot.”

            “I must’ve watched _Temple of Doom_ like twenty times just for him.”

            “Ugh, _Temple of Doom_?”

            “That shirtless scene, bro.”

            Blaine grinned. “Still, just thinking a guy is hot doesn’t necessarily mean you’re attracted to them. Have you ever met a guy in real life you’d think about dating?”

            “Yeah,” said Sam, with no hesitation.

            Blaine raised his eyebrows. “Well,” he said. “That’s a little more definitive. Who?”

            Looking back up at the ceiling, Sam considered this question for a few moments. “When I first came to McKinley,” he said slowly, “I really felt like the new kid. I didn’t know anyone like you did, and I was on the football team but even the guys there didn’t really click with me. I was the quarterback for a while when Finn got kicked off, and I think a lot of them didn’t like that.”

            Blaine stayed silent, wondering where this was going.

            “Kurt was nice to me, though,” he said, and Blaine fought very hard not to raise his shapely eyebrows in surprise. “He seemed like he really wanted to get to know me, he even wanted to sing with me. I wanted to do a duet where I was Tim McGraw and he was Faith Hill.”

            “Kurt never would have done that,” said Blaine, unable to control himself, then he slapped a hand over his mouth; he hadn’t meant to interrupt.

            Sam laughed. “Yeah, but I didn’t know him that well back then. Anyway, he ended up doing this duet by himself where he was like, a girl and a boy, and honestly…it was super hot.”

            “ _No_ ,” said Blaine, his voice hushed in awe.

            Sam nodded, almost guiltily. “I thought he was really cool. And, like, it didn’t really feel like I had feelings for a _dude_ , it was more like I knew that he kind of liked me and so I felt like I could like someone who liked me back – even if that someone happened to be a guy.” He glanced at Blaine. “Does that make any sense at all?”

            Blaine nodded enthusiastically. “It totally makes sense,” he said. He paused, then asked, “Do you…really think you might’ve dated Kurt?”

            Sam gave a half-shrug, half-nod, as if to say _Sure_. “Why?” he asked, a frown appearing on his brow. “Does that weird you out? I don’t, like, have feelings for him now or anything, he’s all yours-”

            “No, no, it’s fine,” said Blaine. “It’s…kind of cute, actually. I was just thinking, he doesn’t really seem your type.”

            “Really?” asked Sam dubiously. “Because I’ve made out with pretty much every girl in glee club. I don’t have a type, at all.”

            This made sense. “Wow,” said Blaine, impressed. “That’s actually really cool. I bet Kurt would be so flattered if he found out a football player had a crush on him.”

            In fairness, Sam began, “It wasn’t _really_ a crush – just kind of like, Hey, this dude’s cool, I wouldn’t mind, like, hanging out with him a lot and maybe kissing his face and stuff. Kurt’s mouth is like almost as big as mine, I bet kissing him would be crazy.”

            “It is,” said Blaine, as a flash of Sam kissing Kurt appeared in Blaine’s mind, and blood rushed to his face, and also to another part of his body, due south.

            “It’s sort of like the same thing with you,” added Sam.

            All the warmth in Blaine’s face drained immediately as something dropped into his stomach like a stone. He looked up at Sam. “What?” he said.

            “I told you I was kinda into it,” said Sam, shrugging. “I mean, I know you’re dating Kurt and you guys have already had a cheating thing so I would never, ever let you mess things up again with me, but like…I don’t feel any different about you than if a girl would’ve told me she liked me. If you were single and wanted to hook up, I probably would.”

            “ _What_?” asked Blaine, aghast. They had been talking obliquely around Blaine’s crush on Sam for a while, but he never could have anticipated this. This was a game-changer.

              “Although,” added Sam firmly, “I would totally respect the fact that you want to save your butt for Kurt. I’ve never done any butt stuff but I’d be open to it. After what you told me at our last sleepover, I Googled it and turns out the male G-spot _is_ in the butt-”

            “Hold on, hold on,” said Blaine, holding up his hands. “First of all, let’s avoid cissexist language, all right? And secondly, not five minutes ago you told me you’d never even thought about not being straight before, and now you’re telling me that you’ve considered fooling around with a guy – with _me_ – before?”

            “I consider fooling around with everybody,” said Sam. “I don’t know, Blaine, I just feel like hot people are hot – I didn’t know that made me gay.”

            “You’re not gay,” said Blaine. “I mean, as an umbrella term, since you do feel attraction to guys I guess I wouldn’t stop you from using ‘queer’ but I do feel strongly that ‘gay’ be reserved for the people who exclusively experience same sex attraction, it’s definitely a different experience. So maybe you’re – bisexual?”

            “Can I go with pansexual?” asked Sam seriously. “Makes me feel like I’m in a Guillermo del Toro movie.”

            “Okay, yeah, sure. Pansexual.”

            Blaine reached up and patted Sam’s arm.

            “Congratulations,” he said. “I’m really proud of you for talking about this, Sam. And also so grateful that you chose to do it with me.”

            “You’re my best buddy, man. And,” he pointed at himself, then Blaine, “safe space, right?”

            Blaine grinned, and lay back down in his sleeping bag. “Safe space,” he agreed.

\----

            “… _and_ ,” continued Blaine, lying on his bed with his laptop open before him. He had a Tootsie Pop in one hand, although he’d been so busy relaying everything he’d talked about with Sam that he had barely licked it once, “he said that apparently you did a duet by yourself before I knew you and it was _super_ sexy, isn’t that cute? And that he totally would’ve dated you.”

            In New York, sitting on his bed with earphones in, Kurt beamed and said, “You’re making that up. He didn’t actually say that.”

            “He did! I know, I was surprised too at first, but when you think about it it makes a lot of sense. He’s always been so non-judgmental, and honestly I think he’d make out with anything with a pulse.”

            “Okay, thanks, that’s less flattering. Brittany would make out with anything with a pulse – I like to think Sam has more discerning tastes.”

            “Me too,” said Blaine, nodding enthusiastically. “Because you know what else he said?”

            “Let me guess, he’s down for a threesome?”

            “No, he-” Blaine broke off, his face lighting up with glee.

            Quickly, Kurt said, “I was kidding, kidding! Tell me what else he said.”

            “Oh, okay, he actually – he said the same thing about me!”

            Kurt was confused at first. “Are we still talking about threesomes?”

            “I mean, I’d like to keep that on the table, but no, not right now. You remember how I said that I was kind of crushing on Sam before, you know, kind of low-key?”

            “Yes, I remember that, and I remember specifically telling you I was cool with it because of how straight he was. Do we need to have a conversation?”

            “I haven’t done anything with him! I just thought it was really cute. And,” he smirked at Kurt, and sucked on the Tootsie Pop seductively, “kind of _sexy_.”

            With a sigh, Kurt asked, “Okay, why did you even bring the lollipop? You’re not gonna finish it and you’re going to end up leaving it by your bed and what if it attracts ants? You really have to think through your sexy props a little better, Blaine.”

            “I am gonna finish it,” countered Blaine, offended. He stuck the Tootsie Pop in between his back teeth and bit down hard, crushing it. Chewing the candy center, he waved the stick up at the camera and said, “See?”

            “Yes, I do see,” responded Kurt, “but now you’ve defeated the whole point of bringing it to be sexy to begin with.”

            “Oh, I know you, we weren’t _actually_ going to get sexy. Not when Rachel can hear everything we’re doing.” He raised his voice. “Hi, Rachel!”

            “I have headphones in, you dummy, she can’t hear you.”

            From behind the bedroom-curtain, Rachel called, “Is Blaine saying something to me? Hi, Blaine!”

            Kurt sighed.

            “You and Sam should get to know each other more,” said Blaine, still chewing on his candy. “I know you two always got along, and I bet he feels like he still knows you pretty well because I honestly talk about you all the time, he wants to know how your internship is going by the way, and whether Vogue needs any up-and-coming male models – but I really think you two could hit it off. That would be awesome. It would be nice to be in a little threesome with my fiancé and my best friend.”

            “I thought your fiancé _was_ your best friend,” muttered Kurt, pretending he wasn’t just a wee bit bitter.

            “He is!” said Blaine quickly. “You are! But you’re my best friend in the metaphysical, kind of existential soulmate kind of way. Sam’s my best friend because I see him every single day, and also he understands all of my comic book references, which you always seem to think are obscure Broadway jokes.”

            “I can’t help it if every comic book character you like has a name that sounds like a 1950s Broadway star, Blaine. Anyway, hold on a second,” continued Kurt, backing the conversation up, “so basically what you’re telling me is that Sam is one of those straight guys who’s into the idea of gay guy fawning all over him to stroke his ego?”

            “No! Not at all! Sam said he would describe himself as pansexual.”

            “Pansexual.”

            “Yes. It’s like bisexual, and,” continued Blaine, before Kurt could roll his eyes and continue, “I know that you’ve always been so sure of who you are that you can’t even imagine an in-between, and after trying to pretend for so long it probably feels fundamentally inauthentic to you, so while I do understand where you’re coming from, I also think you’re being really biphobic and it’s not cool.”

            “Biphobic?” echoed Kurt. “And I thought I was the social justice warrior.”

            “I’m a social justice _mage_ , Kurt, we’ve talked about this.”

            “Okay, well, I just want to point out that this makes me right about Sam to begin with. I knew he was gay the second I laid eyes on that beautiful bottle-blond head.”

            “He actually lightens it with lemon juice, so technically it’s not from a bottle. Also, he isn’t gay.”

            “Right. Half gay.”

            “That’s not how it works, Kurt.”

            “Quarter gay?”

            “That makes him sound like a cheap hustler.”

            “Which, given the stripping, he kind of is.”

            “You can be so weirdly judgmental,” said Blaine. He tossed the Tootsie Pop stick towards his trash, missed, and got up to pick it up and throw it away. Climbing back on the bed, he continued, “Why am I the only person who finds the idea of a teen stripping to keep his family out of poverty completely sad and unsettling, rather than some kind of big joke?”

            “Oh, come on Blaine. Even _he_ thinks it’s a joke.”

            “And that makes me sad! Doesn’t that make you sad?”

            “Has he ever stripped for you?” asked Kurt thoughtfully. “I don’t think that counts as cheating, definitely not if you pay him.”

            “Kurt!”

            “Is he throwing your bachelor party?” asked Kurt seriously. “Are we having bachelor parties?”

            “I’m not paying Sam to take his clothes off for me,” said Blaine firmly. “That feels weird and invasive and creepy to me. He’s my friend.”

            “Expecting him to do it for free _is_ cheating.”

            “I never said I was expecting that at all, but since _you_ brought it up, can we cycle this conversation all the way back to talking about a threesome, maybe?”

            Kurt eyed Blaine’s face on the screen; Blaine was looking straight into the camera because he liked to make eye contact to make sure Kurt knew he was actively listening, but Kurt often forgot to do the same.

            There was a lengthy pause, and then Kurt figured that Blaine might actually be serious, and he began slowly, “I…don’t think I can do that, Blaine.”

            “Okay,” said Blaine quickly, nodding. “I’m not saying we should or anything, just that…it’s an idea.”

            “Isn’t he still dating…whoever he was dating last time I talked to you?”

            “No, he’s single now.”

            “Honestly, how are we supposed to keep up with this endless merry-go-round of straight hookups. It’s exhausting.”

            There was a pause. Blaine’s mouth still tasted like candy; he wondered if Kurt would like the sweetness if they could kiss, or if he’d be so turned off by the blue stain on Blaine’s tongue that he would refuse to kiss at all until he brushed his teeth.

            “When can I visit next?” asked Blaine.

            Kurt shrugged and returned to buffing his nails. “Whenever’s good for you. Things have been kind of slow lately, it’d be nice to have you out here.”

            “I miss you.”

            “I miss you too.”

            “You don’t need to feel threatened by Sam or anything. You’re way hotter than he is anyway. Even he said so.”

            “I know,” said Kurt, throwing a little grin towards the camera. “And I’m not threatened. I was just thinking how nice of you it is to be there for him right now.”

            “Well,” said Blaine pointedly, “it’s not as if he’s in crisis over it, to be honest. I asked him about coming out to the glee club yesterday and he said I could let them know if I wanted-”

            “If _you_ wanted?”

            “Yeah, that’s what he said – but that it doesn’t really matter to him because he didn’t think any of the guys would date him. He did ask me if I knew any other ‘bros who like bros’ though.”

            “Was that the term he used?”

            “It was. I almost gave him Sebastian’s number, but I don’t think they’d get along.”

            “Right. And then there’s the fact that Sebastian is totally intolerable and I would never forgive Sam for hooking up with him.”

            “Exactly. But all in all this whole thing just doesn’t seem like that big of a deal to him, to be honest.”

            Kurt thought about this, about years in the closet and the intense fear and crippling dread at the thought of being outed before he was ready. “Wow,” he said.

            “I know.”

            There was another pause.

            Then Kurt raised his voice and called, “Rachel, earplugs!”

            “What?” called Rachel in reply. “I can’t hear anything you’re saying, or moaning, or even screaming!”

            Kurt rolled his eyes. Blaine, sensing what this meant, leaned in towards his screen in anticipation.

            Kurt watched the screen for a moment, almost worriedly.

            “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to say something really weird, and you can tell me to shut up immediately after I say it. In fact, I’m telling you that you definitely should tell me to shut up. It’s a terrible idea.”

            “What is it?” asked Blaine eagerly.

            Kurt took a deep breath, then lowered his voice.

            “You said Sam likes you, right?”

            “Well, sure,” answered Blaine. “He sounded like it.”

            “And he likes me too? At least a little?”

            “Yeah, for sure.”

            “Did he actually _say_ he’d be okay with a threesome?”

            “No,” began Blaine cautiously, “but then again, neither did you…”

            “I’m not,” said Kurt shortly. “I mean, at least not in the conventional sense.”

            “Conventional…?”

            “You and Sam are both really hot,” said Kurt quickly, “and if there was like, a situation where…the two of you hooked up. If you were both into it, and _if_ I could…watch. Then maybe I’d be okay with it.”

            Blaine gaped at his computer screen. Kurt’s face went instantly pink, his ears flushed red with embarrassment.

            “It’s stupid,” he added quickly. “I can’t believe I just said that-”

            “No!” said Blaine. “No, no, that’s – Kurt. I am _so_ into that.”

            Kurt stared at the screen, then a small smile broke out on his lips. “Really?” he asked. “You’re not just saying that?”

            “Are you kidding me? That sounds hot as hell. I mean, making out with Sam is one thing but…having you there too? That’s absolutely something else entirely. I love it.”

            “I don’t know if I want you and Sam here in person – the last thing I want is Rachel finding out about my depraved sexual fantasies-”

            “They’re not depraved,” Blaine assured him.

            “-but maybe on Skype sometime? And let me reiterate, this is _if_ , only _if_ you two are completely okay with it.”

            “I’m okay,” said Blaine. “Look at me, I’m so okay just thinking about it is kinda turning me on.”

            “Oh,” replied Kurt. “Good. Me too.”

            He grinned, blushed, and Blaine leaned in towards the camera and pretended to kiss it wetly, leaving Kurt red-faced but laughing in his wake.

\----

            “All right,” said Sam; they were in Blaine’s car, driving home after school. “Explain to me one more time how this isn’t cheating on Kurt?”

            “Because he’s involved and he consented and he’s the one who brought it up in the first place, actually,” said Blaine patiently, for the third time that day. “If I’m honest with you, I think it’s sort of his way of exploring our sexual relationship without making him feel too vulnerable.”

            “So…he wants me to be your sex toy?”

            “No!” said Blaine, so passionately he almost accidentally swerved the steering wheel. “No, it’s not like that at all. He wants to get to know you – you said it yourself, he had a crush on you way back when, too, but you guys never got the chance to date. I think he kind of wants to make up for the missed opportunity.”

            Doubtfully, Sam asked, “Is he breaking up with you?”

            “Not at all. He’s special to me, but so are you Sam. More than two people can be involved in a relationship, you know.”

            “ _What_? Since when?”

            “Since, um, always.”

            This seemed to hit Sam hard; he stared out the windshield wondrously, as if the entire world had just opened up to him. “I would _so_ be down for that,” he said. “You know, sometimes I have feelings for people, but I also like other people, but I wouldn’t ever cheat but I did always used to wonder why it couldn’t just be like one big happy family thing. You’re telling me people actually do that?”

            “Well, yeah,” said Blaine, once again surprised at how well Sam responded to just a little bit of education. “I’m not saying we hop on camera tonight – this isn’t just a sexual thing. At least I don’t want it to be. Kurt agrees. You two should get to know each other a little more, and when we’re ready, it might be a fun experience. No pressure, Sam.”

            “You say no pressure too much, Blaine,” said Sam. “I am _totally_ up for getting on camera tonight. I can do it, I’m a performer.”

            “I’m a performer too,” reminded Blaine.

            “Yeah, but I’m a sexy performer.”

             “Sam,” sighed Blaine. “I love you, but you are so much more than your sex appeal. I know it probably makes you feel empowered or something, because you supported your family with it for a while, but there are all kinds of great things about you that aren’t all about your body. Kurt may not be as in sync with you as I am when it comes to all things nerdy, but the best thing about you is how sweet you are, and I know that’s what he really sees in you.”

            “Aw, Blaine,” said Sam affectionately, grinning at him. “I love you too.”

            Blaine glanced at Sam, big eyes and a big mouth framing an adoring smile. He didn’t seem to have heard anything other than _I love you_.

            “Also, can we swing by Wal-Mart? I’m supposed to pick up some school stuff for Stevie.”

            “Can do. Need help babysitting today?”

            “Only if you bring your guitar. Stacey’s trying to learn and we only have mine right now.”

            “Done.”

            “Oh, and we should call Kurt too,” said Sam; at Blaine’s expression, he added, “Just ‘cause I haven’t talked to him in forever. We should catch up before the you-know-what, y’know?”

            Blaine laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “I think he’d like that.”

\----

            A few days later, Sam was lying on the couch at his house. It was late: Stevie and Stacey were already asleep, but Sam was going to stay up until their mom got home. She’d been taking late shifts lately, and their dad worked nights, so it had only been at his parents’ insistence that he stay home to look after his siblings that Sam didn’t have an after-school job again.

            Sam held a phone to one ear, grinning at the voice on the other line.

            “Anyway, it was a stupid but romantic gesture,” finished Kurt – he was lying in bed in New York. Rachel was at a late-night rehearsal, so he had the place to himself. Normally this would mean Skyping Blaine in a rush before Rachel got home, but Sam had called in the past couple days and Kurt had found himself somehow enjoying talking to Sam so much that he’d been itching to get back on the phone with him all day. For a guy as brainless as Sam, no matter how sweet he was, Kurt was utterly surprised to discover how much he enjoyed his conversation. “Don’t ever randomly show up on Christmas when you’re not currently dating the girl, Sam, it won’t work.”

            “Hey, it worked on you.”

            “Not right away,” said Kurt smartly. “And I’m not a girl, am I? Blaine and I aren’t the typical love story.”

            Sam actually laughed at this. “Yeah you are.”

            “What? No we’re not at all.”

            “Are you kidding me? You’re one for the ages. You’re like Ryan Reynolds and that chick from _Mean Girls_.”

            Kurt was stumped for a moment. “Are you thinking of – have you ever even seen _The Notebook_?”

            “Yeah, twice, with Blaine.”

            “Ah. Did he cry?”

            “Both times.”

            “Well, he is a crier.”

            “And a yeller sometimes. And a fighter. Did you know he was in-?”

            “Everyone knows he was in the Dalton Fight Club, Sam, he talks about it constantly. Which kind of makes me feel like he’s missing the point, but whatever.”

            There was a pause, then Kurt asked, “How is he?”

            “Who?”

            “Blaine. I talk to him when I can, and we text all the time, but I’m not there with him every day. And I know he has a…hard time sometimes.”

            “He’s okay,” answered Sam. “I mean, he says he’s been feeling pretty good since he started taking these new meds. Hasn’t burst into tears or shouted at anyone for questioning his show choir talent in a couple weeks, so apparently they’re working or something.”

            In New York, on his bed, Kurt froze. “Meds?” he repeated.

            “Oh, yeah. Because he’s bipolar or whatever.”

            “Borderline,” corrected Kurt. Blaine had told him about his diagnosis during Kurt’s senior year, before he graduated. He’d been trying to keep it a secret before that, but Kurt had always figured there was maybe something up. Blaine was liable to be cool and stable one day, then terribly upset and childish and angry the next. Were he a more vulnerable man, and less in love with Blaine, Kurt might’ve accused Blaine of emotionally manipulating him once or twice in their relationship – but he did love Blaine, and he wanted this relationship to work, so he usually took Blaine’s disorder into account and gave him the benefit of the doubt.

            But he hadn’t known Blaine was on medication. As soon as Kurt said this aloud, Sam immediately groaned and swore. “Oh man,” he said. “I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”

            “What?” asked Kurt, his concern deepening. “Why not?”

            “I don’t know, I forgot Blaine told me that you told him that you think everyone is, like…what was the word he used… overeducated? Or something?”

            A memory came rushing back to Kurt, back from before he knew Blaine was borderline. “Over _medicated_ ,” said Kurt, in retrospective horror. “Oh my God, I can’t believe he remembers that.”

            Sam sounded genuinely upset as he said, “Aw, man, I can’t believe I just told you that.”

            “No, it’s okay,” said Kurt quickly. “I’m sure he was going to tell me eventually – I’ll talk to him and let him know it was an accident.”

            “I’m gonna tell him first thing tomorrow, though. I gotta apologize.”

            Kurt was impressed. Sam had an odd sort of emotional intelligence that didn’t match his typically clueless demeanor, and for some reason Kurt found it endlessly endearing.

             “I wish I was there right now,” sighed Kurt. “With him.” He paused. Then, hesitantly, he added, “…And you.”

            On the other line, Sam giggled a little. “Hey, how tall are you?”

            This seemed a random question. “Um,” answered Kurt, “five-ten, ish?”

            “Nice! That makes you officially tall enough to be the big spoon. Blaine’s too tiny, he always has to be the little spoon.”

            “You two… _spoon?_ ”

            “Platonically,” Sam assured Kurt. “I mean, for now. He says you really like cuddling.”

            For some reason, a blush rose to Kurt’s face. “I – I do.”

            “I love cuddling. See? We have so much in common.”

            “We have exactly two things in common, Sam,” said Kurt, a little smile dancing across his face. “Cuddling, and Blaine.”

            “Cuddling _with_ Blaine.”

            Kurt laughed.

            “Hey, you know what’d be bomb? A three-way spoon. You’d have to be in the middle.”

            “Oh, believe me, I am one hundred percent okay with that.”

            “Or Blaine could be in the middle, because he’s kind of like the little burger in between two bigger buns. Blaine sandwich. Blandwich!”

            “I kind of like the sound of Blurger.”

            “How about – Blamurger. That way we’re all included.”

            Again, Kurt laughed. “Yeah, I like that even better.”

            “Sounds good, right? I should make t-shirts.”

            “Blaine wouldn’t wear a t-shirt.”

            “I’ll make a bow tie for him.”

            “And a neckerchief for me?”

            “Hell yeah. How do you even make a bow tie? Also, what’s a neckerchief?”

            “A bow tie is easy enough if you have a sewing machine. There’s one at my house, just ask Finn, he can show you how to use it.”

            “Sweet. Hey,” said Sam. “Kurt?”

            “Yes?”

            “You’re awesome,” he said. “I’m sorry we never hung out or anything in high school. It was really cool that time you helped me out with those clothes, even though everyone was bugging you about it. I should’ve appreciated that more. Should’ve appreciated you more.”

            “Oh, it’s fine,” said Kurt, just a little bit flustered. “It was probably for the best. You got to date the head cheerleader and get super popular, and I got to meet Blaine, so. Win-win.”

            “Plus, we can make up for lost time now.” Sam paused. “If you want,” he added.

            Kurt didn’t answer this right away. He’d been thinking about it for a while now. When he first brought up the possibility to Blaine, he hadn’t really been looking for some kind of nu-age free-love open relationship type thing, but Blaine had obviously taken it that way and done his best to facilitate something that, much to Kurt’s surprise, was actually beginning to take root. It was true: he liked Sam, a lot, more than he thought was entirely right to be liking someone while in a relationship with Blaine. But that was the beauty of it – Blaine was part of this burgeoning relationship with Sam. He wanted this. And so did Sam. And so did Kurt. So however weird it might feel, the idea was beginning to grow on him.

            “I do want that,” he said, finally. “I just think…sometimes Blaine leaps without looking. So I feel like I have to be the one to make sure the water’s safe before he jumps right in. And that has a way of just making me…a little more cautious.”

            “Well,” began Sam thoughtfully. “Now you don’t have to worry about that.”

            “Oh? Why’s that?”

            “Because now I’m here,” he said plainly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “So I’ll look for the both of you. That way you both can jump in together.”

            Despite himself, Kurt’s heart melted.

            “Hey,” said Kurt softly, lying back in bed. “Do you think…you and Blaine might be able to Skype me this weekend? I think I’m…”

            He paused; he licked his lips, nervous and unsure how to say it out loud.

            Carefully, he said, “I’d like to see you. The both of you.”

            In Lima, Sam held the phone at his ear and smiled up at the dark ceiling.

            “Yeah,” he said. “I think we could do that.”

\----

            “Hey, Kurt?”

            “Blaine? Okay, hold on, let me just add Sam.”

            _Beep_. “NuqneH!”

            “ _What_?”

            “That’s Klingon, Kurt, it means hello.”

            “Hold on, I just started to get the hang of Na’vi-”

            “Lor menari!”

            “Sam, come on,” Blaine said, the impatient patina of his voice still noticeable over the tinny quality of the phone conversation. “You only know that one phrase in Na’vi.”

            “Not true, I also know: _kerusey kenten_.”

            “And what does that mean?”

            “Um, dead lizard.”

            “Okay,” said Kurt, squeezing his pillow in bed in New York. He could hear Rachel snoring on the other side of the bedroom curtains, and was determined not to wake her. “Can we just get started, please?”

            “Yes,” said Blaine, “but I also want to submit that this timing is not great for me, I’m missing the Cardinals game.”

            “Whatever, this won’t take long, they’ll go into overtime or something.”

            Blaine loved most things about his boyfriend, but his complete lack of knowledge about sports was not one of those things.

            “Wait, are we doing this right now?” asked Sam. “I thought we were waiting for Skype? Dudes, I don’t have Facetime, I already told you-”

            “No, no, no,” said Kurt; Rachel shifted in her sleep and he lowered his voice to continue, “This is a prep call, remember, didn’t Blaine say we needed to have those? We’re checking in with each other. This is me checking in. I thought you two were going to be on the line together, but apparently not-”

            “Oh yeah, Stevie got sick so I’m home taking care of him. And we don’t want Blaine getting sick again just in case Tina decides to try something, so that’s why he’s not here.”

            “Okay, honestly, Tina and I have talked about this, everything is cool, you all just keep bringing it up because you’re jealous-”

            “Really?” interrupted Kurt, brow furrowed in a frown. “I kind of got the impression that you and Sam are in this as, like…a unit.”

            “Well,” said Blaine, “we’re not. It’s probably better that we talk about this as three distinct entities, that way nobody gets misrepresented, or seen as half of something when they’re really their own person.”

            “Yeah,” said Sam. “What Blaine said.”

            “Blaine,” said Kurt. “How many adolescent counseling books have you _read_?”

            “Ms. Pillsbury-Schuester actually has a really excellent collection of informative literature about healthy teen relationships, and if you had ever taken advantage of her resources back when you were struggling through high school, Kurt, maybe you would know that.”

            “Okay!” said Kurt, before Blaine could continue. “Blaine is obviously cranky that he’s missing his precious football game, so I guess that means we’ll have to come back to this conversation at a later date-”

            “Wait wait, okay, first of all,” said Sam quickly. “Kurt, Blaine was obviously talking about basketball. Blaine, I’m listening to you, and I’m not judging. Let’s talk about your feelings.”

            When Blaine spoke again, he sounded distinctly deflated. “No, Sam, I appreciate the effort but there’s no need to pull out your verbal de-escalation skills right now. I’m merely noting the fact that I pull a lot of the ontological weight in this relationship and once in a while I wouldn’t mind one of you two taking the initiative.”

            “I am taking initiative!” responded Kurt, offended. “I’m the one who organized this call, didn’t I?”

            “And dude,” said Sam seriously, “I didn’t learn read all those Wikipedia pages on conflict resolution for nothing. Also, is montolotogical a word I need to know?”

            “No,” said Kurt and Blaine simultaneously. After a moment of silence – Sam was pleased, as ‘allow silence’ was one of the steps he’d learned for de-escalating personal conflict – it became apparent that Blaine wasn’t about to apologize, so Kurt bit the bullet.

            “I just think it’s a good idea to talk before we…do the thing,” said Kurt, embarrassed that he still found it too awkward to even say it out loud, despite the fact that the hopefully-sexy Skype session was looming mere days away. “You know, in the moment it’s totally possible that we could get carried away and something could happen that we’re not all prepared for. So to avoid that, maybe we should set some boundaries. Hard lines, and the such. I thought,” he added pointedly, “that you would be all for this, Blaine.”

            “Hey, hey,” said Sam. “No pointing fingers, unless it’s like in a sexy cool kind of rough type way.”

            “Rule number one,” said Blaine, “none of that, Sam. No pointing.”

            “Oh, right,” said Sam hurriedly. “I forgot, that’s such a Cooper thing-”

            “ _No_ , I – Sam, I don’t want to treat you…badly. I’m not interested in that.”

            “BDSM isn’t about treating someone badly,” said Kurt.

            There was a drop-dead silence.

            Horrified, Kurt whispered, “…Did I say that out loud?”

            “I vote we table that for now,” said Blaine abruptly, feeling suddenly very warm alone in his bedroom.

            “Isn’t that a Rihanna song?” asked Sam suspiciously. “Are we about to break into song?”

            “Isn’t your seven-year-old brother in the other room?” asked Blaine.

            “He’s eight, and yeah, but so what?”

            Hesitantly, Kurt asked, “Sam, do you know what that song’s about?”

            “Yeah, it’s about that store where Blaine buys all his clothes.”

            “Sam, honey-” Kurt broke off, suppressing a giggle. “H&M, Blaine? Really?”

            “Well, really Kurt, they’re like the only place that carries a men’s petite line-”

            “Are we gonna talk about clothes now?” asked Sam seriously. “Because I own like, four pairs of jeans and some t-shirts, I can’t talk about that for all that long.”

            “No,” said Kurt smoothly, glad to Segway back to his original point. “No time for clothes tonight.”

            Blaine actually laughed at this, and Sam wolf-whistled. “ _Boys_ ,” said Kurt sharply, despite the blush rising to his face. “You _know_ what I mean.”

            “Hey, Kurt’s right,” said Blaine, presumably for Sam’s benefit. Kurt felt a rush of affection towards his boyfriend for backing him up. “I agree, this is a conversation we need to have before Friday.”

            “Saturday. Stacey has a school choir performance on Friday.”

            “Oh my God, that’s great, can I come?”

            “Yeah, man! She’s so excited, she has a solo and everything.”

            “Sam,” said Kurt. “Blaine.”

            “Right,” said Blaine, nodding although they couldn’t see him. “Okay, does Saturday work for you, Kurt?”

            “I’ll talk to the roomie,” he replied. “But I assume so.”

            “Anyway,” continued Blaine, “like Kurt said, we should establish some hard limits.”

            “What does that mean?”

            “Anything you really, really don’t want to do,” answered Kurt. “Anything that makes you uncomfortable or crosses a line or just that you’re not okay with in general.”

            “That make sense,” said Sam, then without any warning at all, he added, “Butt stuff.”

            Blaine’s heart felt like it leapt into his throat, then dropped into his stomach. “Oh,” said Kurt, blinking. “I…um…”

            He wanted to say, _thought that was kind of the point_ , but decided that that might count as peer pressure and didn’t want to be responsible for opening that can of worms.

            Quickly, Sam added, “Not that I wouldn’t want to, you know, bury my rolling pin in that set of buns-”

            “Oh my God,” mumbled Blaine, humiliated.

            “-but I know Blaine kind of wants to save himself for you, Kurt, and you know, I totally respect that. You should be really flattered, Kurt, that is true love right there, because I know for a fact Blaine would love it if I knocked really hard on his back door.”

            “That metaphor doesn’t even really make sense,” said Blaine, his heart feeling simultaneously still and hammering in his chest.

            In New York, Kurt had one hand pressed over his own heart. Going into this, he had already kind of assumed that Blaine’s first time would be with Sam – and he was okay with that. In fact, he had kind of been looking forward to figuring it all out from afar so it wasn’t as anxiety-inducing when the time came for the two of them to go there. Despite that, hearing this tugged at the strings of his heart, and he suddenly found himself with an odd lump in his throat, touched in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

             “Okay,” said Kurt, hoping he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt. “Okay. I…that’s fine with me. But I’m not really the one who has to agree to it. Blaine?”

            “Yes,” said Blaine quickly, glad they couldn’t see his face, which was bright red. “I can do that. Or, I mean. Not do it.”

            “That’s pretty much it for me,” said Sam. “I’m an open-minded guy.”

            “Are sex toys okay?”

            “Kurt!” said Blaine, in shock.

            “Not for you,” said Kurt immediately, blushing even more furiously. “And I’m just asking!”

            Sam didn’t answer immediately. “Like,” he began, clearly straining his imagination, “…what kind of sex toys?”

            “Look, I’m not against this conversation in general,” said Blaine, intervening. “But I think the less complicated the first time is, the better.”

            “This is probably true,” said Kurt. “So Blaine, what about you? What would you prefer we skip?”

             There was a short silence, as Blaine considered this. Then, slowly, he began, “Well…there is something. But it’s not really about me.”

            “Is it about me?” asked Sam eagerly.

            “Yes,” he answered. “It is.”

            Another pregnant pause.

            Blaine said, “I don’t want you stripping. Or doing anything, you know, White Chocolate-inspired at all.”

            Kurt snorted. “Speak for yourself.”

            “I’m serious,” said Blaine. “No performing, no dancing, no body rolls.”

            “What?” asked Sam, sounding hurt. “But you love the Windy City.”

            “I’m not saying it’s not hot,” said Blaine. “It’s just hot for the wrong reason. I want to be really clear about the fact that none of this is about objectifying you, Sam.”

            “I mean,” said Kurt, “to be fair, that’s what I thought this was about going in, but I have since reviewed my position and made some changes. Blaine’s right, Sam. This isn’t about you trying to be sexy for us. For some crazy reason, I really think this could be…more than that.”

            Sam began, “You shouldn’t say crazy-”

            “He meant it in a good way,” said Blaine, a little laugh just beneath his words. “And that’s exactly it. This is about intimacy, not showmanship.”

            “Oh, let’s be honest, Blaine,” said Kurt, grinning to himself. “You were a Warbler; everything’s about showmanship with you.”

            “You know what I’m saying, though,” said Blaine. “Right, Sam?”

            Sam paused. Then he said, “All right. I can totally do that. I had sex before I was ever even a stripper, so I can probably go back to my pre-White Chocolate days.”

            “Wait,” said Blaine. “With who?”

            “Quinn,” said Kurt.

            “The one who got pregnant when she was a sophomore?”

            “It was a healing experience,” said Sam matter-of-factly.

            Blaine shook his head again. “And people think the gays are sex-crazed.”

            “Obviously they’ve never met a McKinley High teenager in a hetero relationship.”

            “Is my relationship still hetero, if I’m not hetero?” asked Sam thoughtfully.

            “Well, you were at the time,” answered Kurt.

            “He didn’t know he wasn’t,” corrected Blaine. “And in my opinion, no, it’s not, and saying so is a form of bi-erasure.”

            “Oh-kay, well, this conversation needs to end before Blaine goes off on another one of his bi-rants, which apparently is his social justice issue of the week.”

            “Wait, I thought white privilege was still the lesson of the week?”

            “It is,” Blaine assured him. “And don’t be so quick, Kurt. We haven’t talked about you yet.”

            Kurt stared into the darkness of the loft. “Me?” he asked. “I’m not even going to be there.”

            “Yes you are,” said Blaine. “Even if you’re physically not there, you’re still a participant and I told you, Kurt, this – Sam and I – doesn’t work without you. This isn’t just about us, it’s about you and your boundaries too. So? What do you say?”

            Much like Blaine had, Kurt fell silent for a few moments, lost in thought. He couldn’t think of anything immediately; unlike the other two, he felt like he needed the opposite of hard lines, like he wanted anything and everything to happen, because it was so much less frightening and had so much less pressure if he got to _see_ it but didn’t have to _do_ it. So as far as he was concerned, he was almost more game than they were.

            But Blaine was right: Kurt was a part of this, as inextricable as either of them. Neither Blaine nor Sam would ever agree to this without Kurt’s consent, that much they both had made clear to him. So he was a participant, and he had every right to set limits as well.

            But despite himself, he couldn’t come up with one. So he went, as was his first instinct, in the opposite direction.

            “I want you two to kiss each other first,” he said abruptly.

            Neither Blaine nor Sam replied, but Kurt imagined both their eyebrows raising in surprise.

            “Not a lot,” he added quickly. “Just enough so it won’t be awkward or anything when we do it. Like, what if one of you finds out that you’re not as good of a kisser as the other, so it all starts off on a bad foot and it turns out the sexual chemistry between you two was just wishful thinking all along?”

            “I highly doubt that,” said Blaine.

            “I’m down,” said Sam. “I’ve never kissed a guy before.”

            “Also,” continued Blaine, “Kurt, are you implying that I’m a bad kisser?”

            “Please,” said Kurt. “You’ve kissed precisely one person, Blaine, and that’s me, and I too have no way to judge if we’re any good or if we’re secretly doing it horribly, horribly wrong.”

            “I kissed Rachel,” muttered Blaine defensively.

            “What about shirtless kissing?” asked Sam thoughtfully. “Blaine has cute nipples.”

            Blaine said, “Thanks?”

            “He does,” agreed Kurt, “and that’s okay I guess as long as you keep it PG-13.”

            “PG-13 as in includes one use of the f-bomb or PG-13 as in ‘this movie got an R rating because it had some kinda gay scenes in it.’”

            “The latter. I think.”

            “Done,” said Sam firmly. “Platonic man kisses.”

            “I think it’s more than platonic,” said Blaine. “I think we’re past that point.”

            Another voice sounded vaguely from one of their lines, and Kurt asked, “Who’s that?”

            “Not on my side,” said Blaine.

            “Hold on,” said Sam. “Stacey had a bad dream.”

            “Oh, go help her out,” said Blaine. “We’re pretty much done here, I’ll text you guys a follow-up in the morning. Go take care of your sister, say hi to her from me.”

            “Cool,” said Sam. “I will. ‘Bye, you guys.”

            “’Bye, Sam.”

            “Goodnight.”

            With a _click_ , Sam hung up the phone.

            After a moment of silence, Kurt said, “So.”

            “So. That went well.”

            “It really did, didn’t it?”

            “I’m sorry for being a little short with you.”

            “That’s okay. You were born that way. Short, I mean.”

            “Ha-ha.”

            “I’m sorry too. I say things without thinking sometimes.”

            “That’s why Sam is good for us, you know. He doesn’t put up with us bickering.”

            “Honestly, part of that might be because he’s not exactly smart enough to always pick it up when we lay it down.”

            Blaine didn’t answer this right away. Then he said, “He is smart, you know. Just not in the ways people usually care about.”

            Lying in bed, Kurt closed his eyes, a smile on his face. “You really care about him.”

            “Yeah,” said Blaine. “And so do you. I know you do.”

            There was a silence, but it was not uncomfortable. It felt good to be in one another’s presence, even thousands of miles away, connected only be telephone. It wasn’t the words they said to one another that mattered; it was the being there in the moment, the reassurance that they could be there for each other, with their words or in utter silence. The mere thought of knowing Kurt was there on the other side made Blaine feel warm, and safe, and happy.

            “I love you,” said Kurt.

            “I know,” said Blaine, with a twinge of regret that the Star Wars reference would, in all likelihood, fly entirely over Kurt’s head. “I love you too.”

\----

            Mr. and Mrs. Anderson left Friday evening; a few weeks ago they had mentioned plans to go to a three-day wine-tasting at Debonne, but Blaine’s Outlook calendar was synced with his mom’s, and when he hadn’t recognized the event marked that weekend on the calendar he’d Googled it, and found out it was a couples’ therapy retreat. He’d known for a while now that his parents’ marriage was struggling, and although nobody ever talked about it, Blaine knew his father was a habitual cheater.

            Cheating on Kurt had been the worst thing he ever did, and just thinking about it made him feel ill and sad. Was it something he inherited from his father, an inability to stay satisfied, to keep faithful?

            He’d never told this to anyone, not Kurt or Sam. Styling his hair carefully in the mirror, he made a mental note to bring it up at some point. Not tonight, though.

            His phone buzzed. It was from Kurt. _Rachel just left_.

            _Perfect_ , Blaine replied. _I’ll go pick Sam up. See you soon?_

 _I’ll be waiting_.

            Blaine grinned, then grabbed his keys and headed out to Sam’s place. Somebody else might just text Sam to come out as soon as he got there, but Blaine always liked to park the car and go to the front door and see Sam’s parents, if they were around, and Stevie and Stacey, whom he adored. He had no younger siblings of his own (then again, given that Blaine was conceived when his father was still technically married to Cooper’s mom, there might be any number of little Andersons born out of wedlock running around out there that Blaine didn’t know about) – but he knew what it was like to have an older brother who wasn’t always there, who didn’t care so much. Showering love on these kids gave him a weird sort of catharsis.

            And they loved it. Stacey called, “Blaine!” when he arrived at the door, and he laughed as Stevie came running, and they both tugged on his arms, begging him to sing a song with them.

            He stayed just long enough to hear Stacey play You Are My Sunshine on Sam’s guitar, giving her a standing ovation and whooping wildly when she finished, then Sam grinned and gave her a crushing bear-hug. “Blaine and I are gonna go now,” he said. “He’s got the new Dragon Age game and I am so hype for a Qunari inquisitor, you have no idea. Be good for Mom,” he said sternly. His mother kissed him on the cheek, said goodnight, and then they were back in Blaine’s car, heading to his empty house.

            After a short silence, Blaine said, “We can play Dragon Age afterwards if you want. I’m already twenty hours in on a Lavellan.”

            “Who are you romancing?”

            “Bull, but Sera next time.”

            “Not Dorian?”

            “Please, Sam,” he said smartly, “I don’t need to romance _myself_.”

            There was a pause.

            Casually, Blaine asked, “Do your parents know about us?”

            “Not really,” answered Sam. “They know you’re like, my best friend. But I don’t usually tell them what I do in my personal life anyway. I mean, they didn’t even know I was a stripper, which,” he added, nodding at Blaine, “I’m not going to be, tonight. No stripping. No sexy dances. I promise.”

            Blaine flashed a self-conscious smile at Sam. “Can’t believe I’m lucky enough to score two incredibly beautiful, incredible romantic beaus. It still feels kind of like a dream to me. I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

            “Well, you better believe it,” said Sam, flipping through Blaine’s CD collection. “Because it’s about to go down. I’m about to go down. All over you.”

            Blaine laughed and blushed as Sam popped a CD into Blaine’s stereo – written in Sharpie on top in Tina’s handwriting read _BLAINE’S DIVA MIX_ – and a high voice led quickly into the synth bass drop. Sam sang the chorus, and Blaine instinctively harmonized – “ _’Cause I’m a prima donna girl, all I ever wanted was the world…_ ”

            “So where are your parents, anyway?” asked Sam, as they headed into Blaine’s house.

            “Wine-tasting,” he said, flipping the lights on up the stairs, to Blaine’s bedroom. “In Geneva.”

            “Woah, in Sweden?”

            “No, the one in Ohio,” he answered. “Also, it’s Switzerland.”

            “What’s Switzerland?” asked Sam, jumping onto Blaine’s bed, stretching out on his comforter.

            Blaine looked at Sam for a moment, soaking in the magic of the moment. “Nothing,” he said. “Okay, I’m gonna call Kurt.”

            While Blaine set up his computer, Sam lounged back on Blaine’s bed. “Wine-testing,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Man, rich people are wild.”

            Blaine’s first instinct was to protest that his family wasn’t exactly _rich_ , but he’d been getting very good at checking himself before wrecking himself lately, and didn’t want his good streak to come to an end.

            With Skype open on his desktop, Blaine paused, and turned around to look at Sam. “Hey,” he said.

            Sam sat up on Blaine’s bed. “Hey,” he said back.

            “Are you okay with this?” he asked. When Sam rolled his eyes, Blaine continued, “I know you say I ask that too much, but I just want us to be really clear. Kurt and I were the ones who brought this up to begin with, we just kind of recruited you. But I need you to know,” he said earnestly, gazing at Sam with those wide, puppy eyes, “this is about _you_. About your feelings. About intimacy, and connection. This isn’t something we’re just doing. It’s important. It’s special.”

            Sam met Blaine’s gaze. “I know that,” he said.

            Blaine watched him for a moment longer, then got up from his computer and leaned across his bed. He kissed Sam on the mouth, gentle and chaste. Sam’s lips were big and soft, kind of like Kurt’s except without the intoxicating burn of the mint julep lip balm Kurt always wore. Blaine’s mouth tasted like Skittles, because of his secret Lip Smackers love.

            The kiss lasted for just one moment, and then Blaine pulled away and met Sam’s gaze once more, faces inches away from each other.

            Something occurred to Sam for the first time. “Are _you_ okay with this?” he asked.

            Blaine smiled, and kissed the side of Sam’s mouth, his fingers warm and electric on the back of Sam’s neck. “I am,” he said, “ _so_ okay with this, Sam. But thank you for asking, I really appreciate the concern.”

            He sprung back up from the bed and went back to the computer. “Is it too cold in here?” he asked, picking up his computer and moving it to the foot of the bed. “Are we gonna be cold?”

            “Probably not,” answered Sam. “Body heat, bro.”

            “Should I take my socks off?”

            “Um, only if you want to?”

            “I’ll ask Kurt what he thinks,” said Blaine matter-of-factly, laying down on his stomach on the bed. He hit a button and the bubbling Skype ringtone sounded, and then cut off abruptly as the screen lit up before them and Kurt’s face appeared. He was blurry at first, then cleared up as the connection strengthened.

            “Hi Kurt!” said Sam from behind Blaine, waving. Grinning in delight at seeing his boyfriend, eyes scrunched up in the broadness of his smile, Blaine said, “Hey, babe.”

            “Why hello, you two,” answered Kurt flirtatiously, beaming back at them. “Fancy meeting you here.”

            “What’s up?” asked Blaine. “How are you?”

            “Oh, please, Blaine,” said Kurt, rolling his eyes. “I’d give you a blow-by-blow update of how my day went, but then again, you’d probably enjoy that wouldn’t you?”

            Affronted, Blaine said, “I would _love_ that-”

            “Get to the sexy,” said Sam in a fake-whisper, leaning forward across Blaine’s back, cupping his hands around his mouth. Over Blaine’s shoulder, Sam leaned in towards the camera. “Get on with the _sexy_ , am I right?”

            Kurt laughed, and Blaine grinned, pushing Sam off of him. “Kurt,” called Sam, now laying on his stomach beside Blaine, “Blaine wanted to know if he should take his socks off.”

            “Well,” said Kurt fairly, “are your little hobbit feet going to get cold?”

            This had the odd effect of setting Blaine’s face alight with joy. Slapping Sam on the back, he pointed at the screen and said, “Oh my God, Sam, did you hear that? Kurt made a nerd culture reference!”

            “ _Lord of the Rings_ is hardly exclusively nerd-culture, Blaine-”

            “A for effort, Kurt,” said Sam, nodding approvingly. “However, factually inaccurate. Hobbit feet are actually disproportionally large for their tiny bodies. And hairy,” he added, “so less likely to get cold. So that doesn’t really make sense.”

            Blaine nodded and gave a gracious little shrug towards Kurt, ceding Sam’s point.

            “Hey, I made a playlist for this,” said Blaine, hopping out of bed once more to go to his stereo.

            “Oh, no, let’s not,” said Kurt, with a plea in his voice. “I don’t want to be distracted the whole time by your potentially inappropriate music choice.”

            Blaine appeared again at the bed, bending over to peer into the camera, one hand on his chest as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Inappropriate?”

            “You did pick a break-up song for your first duet together,” said Sam, looking up at Blaine. “And then you picked _another_ break-up song for that time after Kurt came back to McKinley.”

            “I’m sorry, what?” asked Blaine. “Somewhere Only We Know isn’t a break-up song-”

            “Oh, Blaine,” sighed Kurt.

            “And _then_ ,” continued Sam thoughtfully, “you picked another break-up song to sing with your brother. That was kind of weird.”

            “Okay, let’s stop talking about this,” said Blaine, eager to move on before someone brought up _Magic Mike_. “Is this happening, or not?”

            “It is,” said Kurt. “I pinched myself like five times already, so it’s really not a dream. This is happening.”

            “ _Yeah_ it is,” said Sam, throwing a grin Blaine’s way.

            “All right, ground rules,” said Kurt. His palms felt a little sweaty; he wasn’t wearing much, but as for right now Blaine and Sam could only see his upper chest, artfully draped in a tank top beneath a thin robe, which, if he was feeling it, he might shed at some point. His heart was hammering in his chest, but not out of fear – out of anticipation. Excitement. “Saying ‘green’ means good, keep going, which you should do even if you don’t think you have to, Sam, because Blaine is really into explicit verbal consent-”

            Blaine nodded proudly.

            “-‘yellow’ is slow down, and ‘red’ means stop completely, which is absolutely okay at any point. I reserve the right to use those at any time as well, so make sure you don’t accidentally mute me or something, okay?”

            “You know,” said Blaine; his voice dropped an octave, slipping into a sexy, husky sound that sent an involuntary shiver down Kurt’s spine. “For someone who’s as much of a virgin as you are, you’re oddly familiar with BDSM terminology.”

            “I read a lot of Harlequin romances in high school.”

            “Eugh,” said Sam, making a face. “I hate Harley and the Joker. That’s, like, such an unhealthy dynamic.”

            Blaine gazed adoringly at Sam, and even Kurt had to laugh.

            “All right,” said Kurt, something sparking with excitement in his chest. “Now let me see!”

            “See what, exactly?” asked Blaine.

            “The kissing you two’ve been practicing so much! I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

            His face went a little pink, but Blaine didn’t hear whatever Sam said in reply, too enthralled by the idea of Kurt… _thinking about_ him and Sam. Something about the reality of the situation began to sink in, and he stared at Kurt’s face, talking and laughing and flushed with happiness and confidence and the first low smolder of arousal.

            It was Sam who brought him back to the moment. “Green,” he said, as Kurt watched anxiously. “Green, green, green, look at him, he’s not even listening to me-”

            Blaine leaned forward and locked lips with Sam, silencing the laugh on his lips.

            There was a moment of breathless silence.

            And then Sam leaned in, and Blaine reached up to put a hand on the back of Sam’s head, gently running through his hair. From the computer screen, Kurt let out a very long, very slow breath, mouth hanging ever so slightly open.

            Mouth to mouth, Blaine pulled away just a touch, and Sam muttered again, “Green. Green, green, gr-”

            Blaine kissed him again, sinking down into it even as he got to his knees. Sam scrambled around to lie on his back, and Blaine gently leaned over him, checking with fuzzy vision to make sure they were positioned parallel to the camera. Kurt’s shoulders were drawn in tightly, his gaze fixed on the screen. He looked so absurdly nervous that Blaine wouldn’t have been surprised if he started biting at his nails. He pulled apart just long enough to ask thickly, “Green?”

            “Green,” said Kurt instantly. His voice was even higher than usual, and Blaine felt an odd jerk somewhere in his stomach at the thought of what this image was doing for Kurt.

            As the kiss deepened, hot and burning at the places they touched, Blaine placed his palm above Sam’s chest, then curled his fingers, clutching at his shirt. They went slowly, agonizingly slowly – slower than Sam had ever gone with someone like this. Even with Quinn, they’d always made out with the intent to get off, to indulge a craving and satisfy a primal desire. There was none of that in Blaine’s touch: no desperation, no frustration, no sense that the lips on his skin could belong to anyone as long as they got the job done. Nor was there an end goal in sight. This touch wasn’t a means to an ends: it _was_ the end, the goal, the point of all of this nervous planning and hasty questions and uncertain, well-it-could-work-out-I-guess conversations.

            It was more than Sam had expected, and he found himself strangely breathless with the weight of it. Blaine was not a big guy, but he was taller and broader in the shoulders than any girl Sam had ever been with; and he was harder, boxier than Sam had expected. Every caress against his chest or hips brought the instinctual anticipation of a swell of softness that wasn’t there. But even this only made him more curious, as if retracing the bodies he’d known before according to a new map, one that wasn’t altogether as unfamiliar as Sam had thought it would be.

            Because it wasn’t necessarily a boy’s body, not to Sam: it was Blaine’s body. It was Blaine. It didn’t matter what he had or didn’t have, what kind of physical touch it was he could give him, it mattered that he was _here_ , this was _Blaine_ , and he was kissing the side of Sam’s face now, along the edge of his jaw, slowly dragging a trail down Sam’s neck.

            From Blaine’s computer, Kurt’s breathing had gotten heavier, more audible in the warm silence of the bedroom. Sam did not open his eyes to glance at the screen, lost in the careful, intimate attention Blaine was leaving in his kisses, his touch, and the feeling of his body across Sam.

            “Hey,” whispered Blaine. Sam didn’t say anything, wondering vaguely how Blaine was doing this to him, and what he could possibly do to return the favor. “Hey,” said Blaine again, just above his breath. He kissed Sam on the neck just below his ear, then pressed his cheek against Sam, skin-to-skin. “I love you,” he said.

            Kurt didn’t reply. Since he knew how much the two of them loved each other, Sam thought this was kind of weird. He opened his eyes just a little bit, just enough to glance at the screen. Kurt’s eyes, fixed just below his own camera, at the screen, looked so open and vulnerable that at first Sam thought he looked terrified, but it wasn’t quite that, not really. His breath was still audible. His eyes flickered for one moment up to the camera, and he looked straight at Sam. Sam realized Kurt still hadn’t reciprocated Blaine’s comment, and since Sam knew reciprocation and give-and-take was so important to Blaine, he almost wanted to say something to prompt Kurt to speak up.

            And then a realization hit him with a jolt like a punch to the gut. Sam closed his eyes again. It dawned on him that Blaine hadn’t been talking to Kurt.

            A moment later, Kurt did speak. “Blaine,” he said quietly.

            Sam could feel Blaine pull away from him, just slightly. “No,” he mumbled. “Green.”

            “Blaine,” said Kurt again.

            “Green,” repeated Sam.

            Blaine’s body stiffened slightly as he pulled away once more, and then he sat up on the bed, curving his back to remain leaning closely over Sam.

            “Hey,” said Blaine. His voice was very low, but the throatiness, the burr of arousal, had somehow shifted into something softer, more soothing. “Shh. Sam.”

            “Green,” Sam said again.

            Blaine put his hand on the side of Sam’s face, and ran his thumb across Sam’s cheek. His thumb came back wet with tears. “It’s okay,” murmured Blaine. “Hey, Sam. It’s okay.”

            He didn’t know why – he wasn’t sad, he was intimate, he was close, he was in love – but try as he might, Sam could not swallow the emotion rising in his throat, bursting like the tears in his eyes every time he tried to speak. “Green,” he pleaded, shaking underneath Blaine’s tender touch. “It’s – it’s green, Kurt, Blaine, it’s… I’m…”

            With his other hand, Blaine reached down to take Sam’s, entangling their fingers tightly together.

            Sam tried to speak again, but his voice betrayed him again, and his words came out sounding strangely strangled. All he could manage was a halting, “K-Kurt…”

            “It’s okay,” said Kurt, without missing a beat. He too spoke gently, no louder than Blaine had been. “It’s all right, Sam. You’re fine.”

            Blaine kissed Sam’s forehead, then lay back down, resting his head on Sam’s shoulder.

\----

            Three hours later, Sam was sitting in Blaine’s bed with his back against the headboard, computer in his lap. “Oh my _God_ ,” said Kurt, dazzled at what he was watching on his screen. Blaine slipped back into the room, bringing with him two big bowls of popcorn and a liter of Diet Coke under one arm. Eyes glued to the movie playing simultaneously on both their computers, Kurt said, “I can’t believe I’ve never seen this before – these are some _iconic_ looks.”

            Blaine handed a bowl to Sam and dropped the soda on the bed. He laughed, slipping onto the bed beside Sam. “Yup,” said Blaine knowingly. “I knew you’d love Rachel’s fur coat.”

            “But the _hair!_ I have never even been one for ‘40s-inspired women’s looks, but Blaine, that _hair!_ ”

            “I can’t believe,” said Sam, shaking his head in disbelief, “we’re watching a movie with Harrison-mother-freaking-Ford in it, and you’re only interested in the girl.”

            “Look at her power suits, Sam! They’re inspired!”

            “Yeah, Kurt, honestly, I’m with Sam on this one,” said Blaine sympathetically. “You keep talking over the dialogue every time Rachel comes on screen, and you’re really missing out on some incredible stuff. This script is a work of art.”

            “The costume design is a work of art,” muttered Kurt.

            Pausing with a fistful of popcorn halfway to his mouth, Sam’s eyes went hazy and he quoted, “ _I’ve…seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of-_ ”

            “Shh!” shushed Blaine, batting at Sam’s face. “Don’t spoil the best scene!”

            “Oh, I don’t care,” said Kurt. “I’m not even really listening. But I’ll tell you what I _am_ doing, I’m definitely planning _Blade Runner_ -themed looks for the next week, like, a little retro but in that very chic modern dystopia kind of way – I should make a lookbook for this, Isabelle’s going to be _so_ into it-”

            While Kurt started to rant on about his forthcoming fashion revelations, talking right over the movie’s dialogue, Blaine leaned his head on Sam’s shoulder, then looked up at his face. Sam looked down at him.

            Blaine reached up and gave him a kiss, nothing more than a chaste peck on the lips.

            “You okay?” he murmured.

            Sam nodded. Kurt fell silent, listening to their exchange.

            “I’m good,” he said. “Even though,” he held up a finger to gesture to Blaine and put on an affected Southern accent, “ _Ah did not have sex, with that man_.”

            Blaine and Kurt stared at him.

            “Bill Clinton,” said Sam, grabbing another fistful of popcorn. “Oh come on, that one was funny.”


	2. Come What May

**Blaine Devon Anderson**  
7:32 AM  
Good morning!

I know I’m about to see Sam at school in approximately 30 minutes but I think it’s best if we all have a group message where we can reach each other for non-immediate things, and to develop communication skills and camaraderie as a group. Also, last night I created a google drive folder here with more information, including an Excel spreadsheet to figure out times when we’re all available: [https://drive.google.com/folderview?id=0Bw37kOiNbnbTOUxaX0s0elEwdTg&usp=sharing](https://drive.google.com/folderview?id=0Bw37kOiNbnbTOUxaX0s0elEwdTg&usp=sharing). This is important because we need to talk again soon just to do a mental/emotional health check-up, I think instituting weekly calls like the one Kurt set up a while ago would be really good as far as that goes. I also included a potential movie list because movie nights are a great idea, but we can do TV shows too, and I have a Netflix account that you’re both welcome to use (email: [blanderson419@gmail.com](mailto:blanderson419@gmail.com), password: Pavar0tt1). I INSIST that we watch Firefly, because I cannot believe that neither of you have ever see it. Disappointing, Sam! Just kidding, it’s cool, we can probably marathon the whole series in a weekend or something. ALSO, we need to have a conversation about our transparency and who it’s all right to tell and if this is something that we want to announce with a huge musical number in Glee Club, we need to talk about if Kurt wants to be there, what song we could sing, who’s taking the lead, all of that. That reminds me, I’ll actually add another document to the folder where we can brainstorm about that. LASTLY, I just want to reiterate how important and special to me you both are, and how happy I am that this is a beautiful thing that I get to be a part of. I love you both so much! Sam, I’ll see you at school! Kurt, I’ll text you! <3

 **Kurt Hummel**  
11:47 AM  
That Google drive folder is completely full. Did you sleep at all last night?

 **Blaine Devon Anderson**  
12:03 PM  
Not entirely relevant right now, but I appreciate the concern. Can you just promise me that you’ll add to the lists?

 **Blaine Devon Anderson**  
12:05 PM  
I just got verbal confirmation from Sam, Kurt, so if you could let me know that’d be great?

 **Blaine Devon Anderson**  
12:17 PM  
Kuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurt

 **Kurt Hummel**  
12:19 PM  
Ok! I verbally confirm. This is me verbally confirming.

 **Blaine Devon Anderson**  
12:20 PM  
Well it’s technically not verbal because it’s on FB

 **Blaine Devon Anderson**  
12:20 PM  
But thank you

\----

            “Blaine,” said Sam. They were babysitting Stacey and Stevie at Blaine’s house. Both kids were in the living room watching reruns of Disney Channel shows, and Sam had torn himself away from _True Jackson VP_ to use Blaine’s laptop. Meanwhile, Blaine was jamming on Sam’s guitar, which was older and earthier than Blaine’s. Partway through Thinking Out Loud, Blaine paused, glancing up at Sam.

            Sam held up Blaine’s laptop, turning it around so that Blaine could see the screen. It was obviously a Facebook group message.

            “I can’t really read this,” he said.

            Blaine’s face fell, hurt. “I know it’s a little bit rambley,” he said self-consciously. “But it’s really no different from the way I usually talk…”

            “No,” said Sam, setting the laptop down on his lap. “I just mean…it’s just this big block of text with no spacing or anything, and the Facebook font is really confusing for my head. The spaces in between words aren’t big enough.”

            Blaine’s eyebrows were furrowed in concern. He set aside Sam’s guitar. “What do you mean?” he asked, leaning forwards on his knees. “Do you have trouble reading, Sam?”

            “Yeah,” said Sam. “I’m dyslexic, remember?”

            Blaine blinked at him. “What?”

            “What?” said Sam, narrowing his eyes. “Did you think I was…just dumb?”

            “No!” said Blaine quickly. “Of course not, and you’re _not_ dumb, Sam. It’s just that I can’t believe I’ve known you this long and I had no idea you were dyslexic.”

            “Well, yeah,” said Sam. “Why do you think I need you to read Star Wars fanfiction out loud to me?”

            “I – well, I just kind of thought that was a bonding experience. Plus I have impeccable taste in fics.”

            “That’s true,” said Sam, turning the computer back around and looking down on it. “But I don’t really see why I have to read all of this anyway, when you’re here to tell it to me in person.”

            “That was kind of the point,” said Blaine apologetically; in the other room, Stacey and Stevie laughed at a fart joke on TV. “I’m not there to talk to Kurt in person, so I wanted there to be a discussion somewhere all three of us could participate. And since group texting doesn’t really work on your phone, Facebook made sense.”

             “I barely go on Facebook anyway,” said Sam, scrolling through his feed. “I swear don’t even know half these people.”

            “You could follow me on Tumblr,” Blaine offered. “Although Kurt never goes on there.”

            “Do you post really long messages in big paragraphs on Tumblr too?”

            “…Sometimes.”

            “Then I don’t really see how that’s gonna help,” said Sam, with a shrug. “Last week I spent like three days reading up on Wikipedia, and I already feel like I forgot all of it. A bunch of words on a screen kind of feels…useless to me, bro.”

            “Here,” said Blaine, going to Sam’s side and leaning over him to type on the computer. “I know there’s an extension somewhere that’s supposed to make reading blocks of text a little easier for dyslexics…”

            “People _with_ dyslexia,” corrected Sam.

            “Right,” said Blaine, and he stopped  typing to flash a grateful smile at Sam. “That’s what I meant. Thanks.”

            A few minutes later, Blaine had added an extension to his browser which faded the beginnings and endings of lines and texts red and blue. Proudly, he gestured at the screen. “There you go,” he said. “Is that any easier?”

            “Um,” said Sam.

            It was a little clearer, maybe, but clarity of lines had never really been Sam’s major problem. At this point, chunks of text intimidated him so badly that even looking at it sent synapses misfiring in his brain, assuring him that he wouldn’t be able to figure it out. Besides, he usually read so slowly that other people got impatient, or otherwise somehow managed to miss a crucial point that everyone else seemed to see instantly. All in all, he just preferred to avoid reading in general as much as possible.

            Sensing this, Blaine said thoughtfully, “Maybe you need a screen reader…”

            “I just don’t get why we have to have these messages,” said Sam, twisting in his seat to look up at Blaine. “I talk to you all the time, and you’re always texting Kurt, and he usually calls me after Stevie and Stacey go to sleep, even though sometimes we only talk for like five minutes. You gotta know, Blaine,” he continued, “you can get a little anal about managing this whole relationship stuff-”

            “That’s funny,” said Blaine sensitively. “Very clever.”

            “That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying that Kurt’s right. Sometimes you get all social justice warrior about this stuff-”

            “Mage,” muttered Blaine. “How many times do I have to say it, _mage_ -”

            “-and that’s good I guess because you make sure everything’s always really positive and healthy and stuff, but also like…”

            Sam trailed off, searching for the words. Blaine watched him, hands in his pocket. Closing Blaine’s laptop, Sam pointed where Blaine had been sitting and said, “Hand me my guitar?”

            Instantly, Blaine perked up. “Are we communicating via song?”

            “Maybe,” said Sam, as Blaine handed him the guitar. Distractedly, he began to strum it. “I just kind of wanted something to do with my hands. Helps me think.”

            Blaine watched him. He recognized Sam’s strumming as an old Taylor Swift song.

            “Music helps you think, too,” said Sam. “It calms you down. Right?”

            “That’s true,” said Blaine, unsure where this was going.

            “So I just want to point out,” continued Sam, rocking his head slightly to the tune, “that you haven’t had a solo in Glee Club for like two weeks. You’re all bottled up, man. You gotta let it out.”

            “I know,” said Blaine, nodding his head. “That’s why I included a Google doc where we can brainstorm our ideas for the perfect song to perform for our unofficial ‘coming out,’ as it were.”

            “See, this is what I’m talking about,” said Sam; he stopped playing, and leaned over the top of the guitar. “Ever since we watched _Blade Runner_ – even before that – all you’ve been talking about is _us_. What’s good for _us_ , how we’re gonna manage together, what we’re gonna do together, how to keep a healthy relationship going no matter what.”

            “What are you saying?” asked Blaine, a plastic smile frozen on his face to hide his fear at where this might be going. “I’m not – smothering you, or something, am I?”

            “No, no,” said Sam earnestly, shaking his head. “I know I’m the one you’re doing it for, because I don’t know, like, anything about any of this and I learn something practically every time you open your beautiful little mouth,” Blaine’s smile became very real for a second there, and he beamed at Sam, “ _but_ I just get worried that, maybe because you’re always taking care of _us_ , that sometimes you might forget to take care of…you.”

            Blaine didn’t say anything for a moment.

            Then he said, “I’m not just doing it for you. Kurt thinks he’s so smart and progressive, but he really has a lot of backwards views on things. So I do it for him too. And for myself, because believe it or not Sam, but I don’t actually have any idea what I’m doing here. I have to learn this stuff, too.”

            “I know,” said Sam. Setting the guitar aside, he reached out and grabbed one of Blaine’s hands in his, squeezing it tightly. “That’s what I’m saying. It’s a whole lot for anybody to do, and you’ve got graduation and your NYADA audition and being class president and being the official new Rachel to take care of too. Don’t let _us_ get in the way of all of that.”

            “Sam,” said a little voice by the door.

            Both Sam and Blaine turned around. Sam didn’t let go of Blaine’s hand. Stacey stood there, looking up at them.

            “Can we have a snack?” she asked.

            “Yeah, of course,” said Blaine, before Sam could say anything. “My mom bought some Goldfish and Capri-Suns for you two special last night, do you want some of those?”

            “Yes please!”

            Blaine poured Goldfish into a bowl, then stuck some carrots and celery around another bowl full of ranch dressing because he insisted that they have some vegetables, and the twins both said, “Thank you, Blaine,” then scurried back out to continue watching TV.

            There was a pause, then Blaine turned back to Sam.

            “You’re not getting in my way,” he said. “I feel like, with you two…”

            He paused, struggling for words. Blaine was usually so _on_ , so articulate, that the fact he could not find the words to express himself was both endearing and slightly worrying.

            “You two open me up,” he said finally. “I love Kurt, and I know where I stand next to him – like I belong. Like I know who I am. And then you’re here,” he said, nodding at Sam, “to make sure I don’t forget. Because sometimes…I know I can be a lot to handle. I know that. But you’re here, and you know how to handle me, so. You two aren’t holding me back from being anything,” he said. “If anything, you’re helping me be me.”  
            Sam got up and went over to Blaine, enveloping the smaller man in a big hug. Blaine held him back, and Sam kissed him on the forehead, then said, “Now I need to punch a wall to feel manly again.”

            “Uh-uh. Toxic masculinity, Sam. We talked about this.”

            “ _Anyway_ ,” continued Sam, letting go of Blaine. “I’m not saying we’re bad for you, because we had that whole conversation about healthy relationships and I’m pretty sure this is good for all of us. But all this pressure of micromanaging _us_ on top of everything else, man, it’s gonna make you explode. You gotta do something for yourself.”

            “I do plenty of things for myself,” protested Blaine.

            “You text Kurt about which bow tie to wear every day before school,” said Sam. “And you schedule your boxing workouts around football practice.”

            “So you’re saying you think I’m – obsessive.”

            “Maybe,” said Sam honestly. “You said you get intense over some things sometimes, that’s part of your border wall thing.”

            “Borderline,” muttered Blaine.

            “Yeah. And I _like_ it when you get all excited over us, I really do. But getting so caught up in it you forget about the rest of your life isn’t a good thing either.”

            Blaine picked up Sam’s guitar again, absently strumming at the strings. There was a frown on his brow. Going to the fridge, Sam asked, “Can I have a Capri-Sun too?”

            “Yeah,” answered Blaine. “You know what, thank you, Sam. You’re right. If I try to keep this up, it’s going to come crashing down all around me. I’ve got to…learn to let go a little bit.”

            “I don’t know about let _go_ ,” responded Sam, sticking a pointed straw into the juice pouch. “Let _loose_ , maybe. Let us take the lead. I may not be as organized as you guys, and I’ve never read any teenage self-help books-”

            “Not even _Chicken Soup_?”

            “I’ve read alphabet soup, I guess,” said Sam seriously. “But never chicken soup. Anyway, the point is, take a breather. Sing a solo. And don’t worry what it means for _us_. Just think about you, man.”

            Blaine unconsciously plucked out a melody, lost in thought.

\----

            “All right!” said Mr. Schuester, as the Glee Club assembled before him in the choir room. “Now I know I said that this week we were going to be focusing on Kansas this week-”

            “Which I am only participating in if we can do Carry On My Wayward Son,” said Tina pointedly. “Sam is Sam, obviously, and Blaine can be Dean.”

            “I wanna be Dean!” protested Artie, twisting around in his chair.

            “ _But_ ,” continued Mr. Schue, glossing past this, “Blaine talked to me earlier and he has something a little out-of-theme he’d like to perform for you all. Blaine?”

            Blaine got to his feet as Mr. Schue stepped aside, offering him the stage. “Thanks Mr. Schue,” he said. Facing the entire Glee Club – Sam grinned at him from the back row, throwing him two thumbs up – Blaine took a deep breath, then said, “As many of you know, I don’t seek to be regressive – in fact I actively try to be _pro_ gressive. In a lot of ways, everything about me is inherently progressive, but I didn’t do anything to be that way except for wake up this morning, and feel and be the way that I feel and am. I don’t believe in going backwards,” he said, “but sometimes, you do have to take couple steps back. So I know Beatles week was a while ago, but I want to go back to that time, to what I felt then, and what I did, and just…make it new again.”

            He smiled at all of them.

            “Sam,” he said, looking up at the other boy. “I love you.”

            Eyebrows shot up all around. Tina stared at Blaine murderously, and Marley looked back and forth between he and Sam, confused.

            “I love,” continued Blaine, holding out his arms, “ _all_ of you. What’s so beautiful about love is that it isn’t this thing you can run out of, it’s not like there’s only so much to go around. All of us, every day, are overflowing with love. I know that. I knew it when I sang to Kurt, and when I asked him to marry me. And – I’m not gonna repeat that stunt. But,” he said, “I just want everybody to know…you’re important, and special, and included the brilliant rays of sunshine and love that I have to give-”

            “Is this leading up to a song or an orgy?” Kitty asked bitingly.

            “Song,” said Blaine, pointing at her. “Thank you for asking, Kitty. Hit it!”

            

            The first few discordant notes started, and Blaine began to sing.

_What would you think if I sang out of tune?  
Would you stand up and walk out on me?_

            From the back row, Sam watched him, joining in to harmonize during the chorus, clapping his hands in tune. Blaine looked at him a few times, locking eyes with him and grinning, but as always during a performance he was mostly gone in his own world, dancing gracelessly to the rhythm of the song, belting out notes just for the pleasure of hitting them, emotions so plain on his face they almost looked like pain.

            At some point during the number Brittany got to her feet to dance with him; Tina and Artie joined, and then the entire club was on their feet, dancing and clapping and singing along. Blaine killed it, unleashing his best performance in weeks. More importantly than that, Sam thought, he looked like he was having the time of his life.

            Blaine reached out and grabbed Sam’s hands.

_Would you believe in a love at first sight?  
_ _Yes, I’m certain that it happens all the time_

            The entire club danced around the choir room; Sam held onto Blaine’s hands, swinging them back and forth in a goofy, childish kind of dance. Blaine spun, holding Sam’s hand tight, and all of them sang the song out together.

_Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends_  
_Oh, I get high with a little help from my friends_  
_Yes, I get by with a little help from my friends  
_ _With a little help from my friends!_

            Blaine and Sam ended the number beaming, arm in arm.

            Across the classroom, Tina glared at them suspiciously.

\----

            “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…”

            “You can’t use that,” said Blaine, shaking his head, splayed out on his bed with pizza in hand. “That’s plagiarism.”

            “And it’s untrue,” added Kurt, enjoying a homemade oven-baked pizza of his own on the computer screen. “It was in Westerville, not space.”

            “Also,” said Blaine, squinting up at Sam, “you realize the Best Man doesn’t actually say any vows, right?”

            “What?” asked Sam, looking crestfallen. He was standing in front of Blaine’s bed, several printed-out pages typed in a large, clear font in his hands. “But I wanted these to be perfect!”

            “Oh, don’t be such a Debbie Downer, Blaine,” said Kurt. “He’ll get a speech. I think it’s sweet.”

            “Except you shot down my space opener…”

            “There will be no sci-fi at my wedding,” said Kurt firmly. “Hard line. Red red red.”

            “Well, it’s too late for that,” said Sam, kneeling down by the bed to look into the computer screen. “I already paid the wedding planner to play the Star Wars theme when Blaine walks down the aisle.”

            “Sam, we don’t even have a wedding planner yet.”

            “And why is it that you assume I’m the one walking down the aisle?” added Blaine.

            “What?” asked Sam, then he looked away, disturbed. “Then who did I pay?”

            Blaine looked concerned, but Kurt only said, “Keep going, keep going! I want to hear.”

            “Okay,” continued Sam, getting back to his feet and looking down at his papers. “All right…” He cleared his throat, then began.

            “The first time me and Blaine and Kurt met,” he read, “was two years ago at Dalton Academy. I had a job delivering pizzas because my family was kind of homeless and I was trying to help my parents make ends meet. Maybe somebody else would’ve just taken the pizza and let me go. Not Kurt and Blaine.”

            He read slowly and a little haltingly, eyes glued to the page before him, a little frown on his brow. Blaine had helped format Sam’s words into a wide, spaced-out font that was supposed to help people with dyslexia to read easier, and in their study sessions together, Blaine had been trying to quietly emphasize getting Sam to read more. It wasn’t that Sam couldn’t do it; it was just that he was frightened by it, scared that he was going to mess it up, frustrated with how hard it was for him.       

            Knowing this, Kurt and Blaine watched him patiently and silently, adoration caught in their rapt expressions.

            “They invited me inside to have some of their pizza with them, which I wouldn’t normally have done but I knew they were actually going to fire me at the pizza place anyway, since this other guy with his own car just got hired. They were hanging out with some of the Warblers, but when they started asking questions and saw that I was getting upset, Kurt and Blaine took me into the other room and Blaine gave me some candy corn and it was like, the first time I told somebody else what me and my family were going through. It was nice because I was also looking out for my younger brother and sister, and I couldn’t really talk about it around them either because we didn’t want them to be scared or anything. Being there in that Dalton choir room with Kurt and Blaine, I felt safer than I had since we lost our house. When they saw that my jeans had holes in them, Blaine said he really badly wanted to help but he was ashamed that he might not be able to, the only reason being because he’s so much smaller than me so his clothes probably wouldn’t fit, so that’s why I borrowed some of Kurt’s old clothes, not Blaine’s.”

            Suspiciously, Kurt asked, “Why does it feel like you wrote that part, Blaine?”

            “I don’t know,” said Blaine innocently.

            “Yeah, I don’t remember saying it exactly like that,” said Sam thoughtfully, peering at the paper. “You didn’t change anything when you typed this up, did you Blaine?”

            “Just keep going,” said Blaine hurriedly.

            “Okay, so,” continued Sam, trying to find his place again. “Right… I’ve never met anyone as non-judgmental as the two of them, even though sometimes Kurt can do that thing where he sounds like he’s being judgey, but that’s really just for show, because when it comes down to it, he’s one of the nicest and most sincere people I’ve ever met. I didn’t know it back then, but that night I met my best friend, Blaine, who is still the guy who would invite someone he didn’t even know to come in and hang out with him, just to make sure he’s okay. Way back when we shared a Veggie Supreme pizza together, these guys made me feel safe. And they’ve made me feel safe and accepted with them every day since.”

            Gleefully, Kurt and Blaine broke out into enthusiastic applause. “That was beautiful, Sam,” said Kurt, beaming. “I’m touched.”

            “Yeah,” said Blaine, nodding. “You’re definitely saving that speech for the wedding.”

            “Although,” added Kurt pointedly, “you know that’s not the first time we all met, right?”

            Blaine and Sam both looked at the computer screen. The genuine surprise on all their faces told Kurt all he needed to know.

            “Valentine’s Day,” said Kurt, grinning up at them. “Do you really not remember this?”

            “No way,” said Sam. “Blaine transferred to McKinley way before we did Love Shack-”

            “I’m talking about the year before that,” said Kurt. “When we were both still at Dalton. Blaine, don’t you remember the Warblers performance at Breadstix?”

            Slowly, a look of comprehension dawned on Blaine’s face, quickly obscured by horror. “Oh, God,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “That was after the Jeremiah thing, wasn’t it?”

            “Oh yes, it was.”

            “Who’s Jeremiah?”

            “A guy Blaine was into,” answered Kurt. “Before me, of course. We serenaded him in the middle of a Gap, and it was a complete trainwreck.”

            “You were great about it, though,” said Blaine, addressing Kurt. “And you were pretty bold when it came to letting me know how you felt about me, too.”

            “Kurt doesn’t really do subtlety, though,” said Sam fairly. “Did he ever tell you about that time he snuck up on me in the shower?”

            Blaine’s shapely eyebrows rose, and Kurt grinned and said, “Oh, stop, you’re making it sound much more fun than it was.”

            “What song did you guys sing again?” asked Sam, thinking back to the performance at Breadstix.

            “Silly Love Songs,” said Blaine and Kurt simultaneously. Kurt added, “It’s one of the only proper love songs I’ve ever seen you sing, Blaine.”

            “Look, I still maintain that Somewhere Only We Know is a love song, not a breakup song. And there was Rio.”

            “With your brother,” countered Kurt, “ _and_ in a mash-up, and also, in what world does Rio by Duran Duran qualify as a love song?”

            “Blaine World,” said Sam firmly. “It’s like Bizarro World, but everyone wears bow ties.”

            “It’s Not Unusual,” Blaine contested, defensively.

            “Your intentions are always sweet, but Tom Jones isn’t exactly what I’m talking about,” said Kurt. “Let’s face it, Blaine. You’re not a romantic.”

            “I’m very romantic,” protested Blaine.

            “Yeah but you’re not _a_ romantic,” said Sam to him, dropping down to join Blaine on the bed. He took a slice of pizza and, to Kurt, he said, “I totally get the difference.”

            “Don’t worry about it, Blaine,” said Kurt consolingly. “We love you either way. And! That reminds me.”

            He scurried off his bed and away from the camera. Voice carrying from somewhere else in his loft, he said, “So I know that you’ve been getting a little caught up in managing this relationship, Blaine, and although I’m sure your number in Glee Club was very cute and a little therapeutic-”

            He reappeared on the screen, clutching something in hand.

            “It can’t possibly be all that cathartic for you,” he continued, “because it’s really nothing new. You get solos all the time. What you really need is to take a deep breath and get yourself out of your own head, out of your pathological need for control and, hey, maybe even – out of Ohio.”

            Kurt held up the pages he was holding to the computer screen, and Sam squinted his eyes, lips framing words as he struggled to read it backwards, but then Blaine gasped.

            “ _New York Comic Con tickets_?” asked Blaine, in shock. “We’re going to NYCC?”

            Kurt nodded. “All three of us,” he said, splaying the tickets out in his hand. “Although I’m only coming to chaperone, and you two are _not_ going to ditch me for some comic book signing or something, alright?”

            “Wait,” said Sam, confused, “we’re going to Comic Con?”

            “Yeah! Well, kind of,” said Blaine. “The one in New York. It’s still gonna be awesome, though!”

            With a hint of injured pride, Kurt said, “I’m sorry if this particular Comic Con isn’t _good enough_ for you, I just thought you’d like to come up and spend the weekend with me as well-”

            “No, Kurt, thank you,” moaned Blaine, leaning forward towards the camera. “This is amazing. You’re too good to us. Thank you,” he said sincerely, his hazel eyes big and yearning, as if he wished he could lean right through the screen and kiss Kurt.

            He seemed to recognize this as an impossibility, so he turned around and leaned over and reached out towards Sam, and planted one on his mouth. At first Sam looked surprised, but he happily leaned into it, lips and tongues gently colliding; Sam skated his teeth along Blaine’s lips, then grinned at him, blushing slightly. “Sorry,” he said. “Probably taste like pepperoni.”

            “We’re so romantic, aren’t we?” asked Blaine, turning to beam at the camera, then back at Sam. “We first met on Valentine’s Day…we’re always looking out for each other, and now Kurt’s taking us to a comic con, even though he doesn’t eve like any of that stuff… We’re _romantic_ ,” he sighed.

            On the computer screen, Kurt giggled. “I guess we are, aren’t we?”

            Blaine leaned forward again and kissed Sam’s neck. He closed his eyes, and Sam had the foresight to carefully move the pizza box from the bed to the floor, laughing slightly as Blaine’s lips tightened slightly, sucking on Sam’s skin hard enough to intentionally leave marks.

            “Oh,” said Kurt, flushed but excited. “Oh, my.”

            When Blaine’s mouth hit Sam’s again, any trace of laughter was gone from his expression: there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere, and Sam reached out to grab Blaine’s arms, holding onto him tightly. He wiggled a little beneath Blaine, but if his intention was to reposition in front of the camera for Kurt’s benefit, he was hardly successful – Blaine was too caught up in the moment to notice that, suddenly and terribly intoxicated with the feel of Sam’s skin. For an agonizingly long minute, Kurt could only hold his breath and watch as their breathing got heavier, louder, and Blaine wrapped his hands in Sam’s hair and kissed him urgently, as intensely as if he were a dying man, and only breath from Sam’s mouth could save him. When Blaine’s hips began to shift, grinding down against Sam – Sam let out a breathy little noise that might’ve been a laugh – Kurt’s eyebrows shot up, and he had one hand pressed against his mouth because he was afraid the noises he was liable to make would be far less sexy than Sam’s.

            Blaine let out an obscenely erotic moan, and tore one hand away from Sam’s hair to slip beneath Sam’s t-shirt, dragging his splayed fingers up Sam’s chest. Kurt’s breath caught in his throat as Sam put his hands on Blaine’s ass, rolling with every (fully-clothed) thrust Blaine gave.

            Blaine pulled away breathlessly, eyes hazy with arousal. This time both his hands went to his belt, unbuckling and tugging it off; as a second thought, he also pulled off his bow tie, and, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt, he leaned back down to kiss Sam’s chest, bare now as Sam practically tore the shirt from his own body. The body roll which had once so offended Blaine rippled down Sam’s body, slow and sensual, and it seemed to have the exact effect Sam had intended. Hungrily, Blaine’s mouth clashed with his again, clasping Sam’s face in his hands.

            Sam’s hands, meanwhile, ventured south. For a second Kurt couldn’t tell if he was going to touch himself or Blaine, then he pressed gently at Blaine’s navel, pulling Blaine’s shirt out of its neat tuck into his pants, and his fingers touched bare skin. Almost desperately now, Blaine ground his hips down, searching for friction. Sam’s fingers softly teased down the faint trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of Blaine’s pants, and then he undid a button and unzipped the fly, and alarm bells went off in Kurt’s head and, overwhelmed with sensory overload at the mere imagination of the touch, crushed between anxiety and desire, Kurt could not stay silent.

            “Yellow,” he blurted out unthinkingly, hoping his voice didn’t come across as high and terrified through Blaine’s speakers as it sounded to him.

            For one horrifying second, Kurt thought that neither Sam nor Blaine were going to look up, that they didn’t care at all – that all their talk had been for nothing. Then again, Kurt had been the one to bring this up in the first place – what right did he have to change his mind now, when Blaine and Sam were obviously well on their way, and enjoying themselves, at that?

            But, of course, that was not who Blaine was. Although he still seemed a little lost with the haze of arousal, Blaine managed to pull himself away from Sam, who clumsily leaned up on his elbows, drawn upwards as if their mouths were magnetically connected.

            Blaine looked around, right at the camera. Kurt couldn’t say anything, breath trapped somewhere in his chest.

            Blaine blinked, looked down at Sam, then once more to the computer screen. He wiped his mouth a little, then, tentatively, he asked, “…Green?”

            Kurt hoped Blaine and Sam wouldn’t be able to tell, on the fuzzy computer screen, that his hands were shaking.

            He knew that Blaine had stopped because he wasn’t sure if Kurt was comfortable with this, wasn’t sure if Kurt wanted to go there, sexually, even if he wasn’t a physical participant. Blaine had always been accepting and nonjudgmental and supportive of Kurt’s sexual reticence, and Kurt had always been incredibly grateful for that. But on some level, he didn’t think Blaine understood.

            Blaine thought this was about the fact that Kurt didn’t feel sexual attraction the way he did – that Kurt needed the romance, the love, the personal connection to make it sexy.

            It wasn’t that. Not entirely. This was painfully clear to Kurt at the moment, jaw and fists clenched against the raging arousal tugging at his insides, warmth pooling into an uncomfortable hardness in his lap.

            Kurt didn’t want to make a fool of himself. He had always found it extraordinarily difficult to turn off his self-consciousness, and how was he supposed to enjoy sex if the whole time he couldn’t stop thinking about how he was unimpressive and embarrassing and doing it wrong? He had, as he’d once said to Blaine, the sex appeal of a baby penguin. He didn’t want to ruin their first time.

            Nervously, one hand flickered almost unconsciously south. Blaine still gazed at him hazily from behind the camera.

            Oh, what the hell. Sam and Blaine were hot as hell, and Kurt’s hard-on was quickly becoming impossible to ignore. Might as well seize the moment.

            Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, Kurt bobbed his head up and down in a nod and whispered, “…Green.”

            “Green!” echoed Sam, grinning up at Blaine. “Green, green, green-”

            Blaine’s laugh was silenced as he kissed Sam once more, lost in the bliss of the moment. Hurriedly, they scrambled to take Blaine’s sweater vest and shirt off, taking great care not to pop any of the buttons. Grinning at each other, their hands roamed freely across one another’s body, soaking in every inch and detail as if committing it to sense memory, as if if they touched enough, they could somehow trap this feeling in their fingertips, keep it with them even after all this was long gone.

            Meanwhile, in his bed in New York, Kurt adjusted his laptop slightly to make quite sure it was focused tightly on his head and shoulders, and gingerly reached down into his underwear.

            Sam pulled on Blaine’s pants, and he kicked them off then did the same with Sam’s jeans. Both of them were hard by now, but the more noticeable bulge in Sam’s boxers betrayed the fact that he was slightly more well-endowed than Blaine (or Kurt, although neither of them could see that at the moment). Far from making Blaine self-conscious, this only excited him: he could barely take his eyes off Sam’s lap long enough to kiss him again, reaching out to take Sam’s hands, entwining their fingers together.

            Lying out across each other mostly naked, they kissed with an intimacy and tenderness that wasn’t quite the same as the hungry, desperate making out just minutes earlier. Blaine reached up, bringing Sam’s hands up above their heads, grinning onto his lips. He kissed Sam’s nose, then his cheek, then his mouth again, then dropped one hand down in between them first to palm himself, ever so slightly. Then, without warning, he reached down and gently took hold of Sam through his boxers.

            Sam let out a little whine of appreciation, closing his eyes in bliss. He turned his head away and threw it back, allowing Blaine access to the sensitive flesh of his throat, onto which Blaine dutifully lavished attention.

            Eyes glued to his screen, Kurt huffed slightly, trying not to go too fast so he could enjoy this in full, but at the same time knowing that as soon as Sam and Blaine went any further he wouldn’t be able to stop himself, so absurdly turned on was he.

            Blaine went very gentle and slow at first, a layer of cloth separating the skin of his palm from that of Sam’s cock. He pulled away, hesitating in his touch. “Hey,” he began.

            “Yeah, I love you too, keep going,” said Sam, without opening his eyes.

            Breathless, Blaine laughed. “That’s not it,” he said, “although yes, that too. Do you mind if I try something?”

            “I’m hoping you _will_ try something any second now, because I am, like, halfway there already-”

            “Do you trust me?”

            “Do I – of course I trust you, do you think I’d let you put your hands anywhere near my junk if I didn’t trust you!”

            Kurt would’ve laughed at this, but was currently biting his lip and squeezing himself very hard, trying to stay cool.

            “Okay,” said Blaine, and he clambered off Sam, repositioned the laptop first, then tugged Sam’s legs over to the side of the bed, so that his feet were on the floor.

            Then Blaine got off the bed, and knelt before Sam’s legs.

            “ _Oh_ my God, Blaine,” said Kurt, at the exact moment Sam said, “Holy _shit_.”

            He grinned up at them and put one hand on each of Sam’s knees, pushing them apart. Sam sat up, leaning back on his hands. With one hand he reached out – then he paused, looked around once more, and asked, “Is this okay?”

            “ _Yes_ ,” answered Kurt, before Sam could say anything. “Yes, oh my God Blaine, is there – we need a word that’s like one step ahead of green, something that means like _yes_ , yes, oh my God yes keep going-”

            “Seconded,” said Sam, nodding enthusiastically. “Whatever that word is, imagine me saying it right now over and over and over again.”

            Without protest, Blaine pulled down Sam’s underwear.

            The second he put his mouth on Sam’s cock, Kurt almost came.

            It was, all of it together, too much – the loving, gentle look on Blaine’s face, his long eyelashes visible even through the fuzzy quality of the camera, still managing to look poised and elegant and beautiful even when giving his very first blow job; the low, guttural utterances from Sam, whose chest rose and fell as he looked down at Blaine blearily, losing concentration fast; and then there were the divine noises Blaine was making, which Kurt couldn’t exactly tell if he was making for their benefit or for his own, or if that was just how you were supposed to sound when giving a BJ. Either way, it was doing terrible things to Kurt and his insides felt like they were on fire in the purest, most exquisitely painful way, and he wanted more.

            “Blaine,” he said, and he was surprised to find that his voice was quiet, almost in control, instead of as strangled and desperate as he felt. “A little louder.”

            Blaine obliged, and Kurt instantly regretted it. He had to physically stop and close his eyes tightly and try to get out of the moment, because he was _not_ going to be the first one to go, not when he was alone in New York and the other two were the ones actually doing the deed. For a second he even pulled his earbuds out, pretending he didn’t know exactly what was going on on his screen.

            When he finally worked up the nerve to look again, it was worse than ever. Blaine was still going strong, settling into a nice rhythm. He had that blissful look on his face that he got when he got really into performing song, and for a moment Kurt thoughtfully observed the rhythm, trying to match it to whatever song was playing in Blaine’s head – Animal seemed likely – until it occurred to Kurt that it wasn’t the music part Blaine loved so much: it was the performing. And he was certainly putting on a performance for them both.

            Kurt was so focused on Blaine, he almost forgot about Sam completely, but Sam quickly remedied this by giving a loud, grunting moan and leaning slightly forward, knotting his fingers in Blaine’s usually-slick hair. In the warmth of his hand and the moment, Blaine’s hair gave easily to Sam’s touch, curling naturally around Sam’s fingers. The image was incredibly erotic, like something out of a good porno, and again Kurt found himself teetering on the very edge of orgasm, desperately trying to pierce through the haze with something unsexy, something awful to bring him back down, just for a little longer.

            Sam’s hand on his head only served to excite Blaine, and he took his mouth off for a moment, laughing breathlessly and looking up at Sam with starry eyes. Smoothly – expertly, because Blaine had to be an expert at all things – he pumped Sam’s cock with one fist, brushing a teasing thumb over the head. Once more he went down, dragging his tongue along Sam’s hot skin, and when Blaine took him in his mouth again, Sam let out a stuttering breath just below a cry, and he tugged on Blaine’s hair so hard Blaine was pulled back and his mouth off of Sam.

            There was a not-entirely unpleasant jolt in Kurt’s stomach when he saw this, but he hesitated, expecting a “Yellow” or even “Red” any second now: he knew how Blaine was about his hair.

            Then Kurt gasped, and all blood rushed straight out of his head.

            The sight of Sam’s heaving chest, the tip of his wet cock, and a strand of wetness hanging between it and Blaine’s swollen lips all collided at once, and Kurt had to clap a hand over his mouth to hold back a scream.

            “Sorry,” mumbled Sam.

            “It’s okay,” said Blaine, wiping his mouth. He licked his lips and swallowed, and spots swam in front of Kurt’s eyes: he was sure he was about to faint.

            But he did not faint; even more impressive, he’d officially managed to outlast Sam which, given the fact that Sam was the only one of them who wasn’t a virgin, felt kind of good.

            Then again, Sam had also been the one getting blown, so Kurt wasn’t about to judge.

            Sam nodded down at Blaine’s lap and said, “I can – y’know – if you want me to…”

            Blaine shook his head; he got to his feet and leaned down to kiss Sam. Blaine straddled his waist, the bulge between his legs straining at his cute little boxer-briefs – _designer_ , Kurt noted, in a strange glimpse of clarity – and they slowly lay back down on the bed. Sam pulled him close, his wide hands curled around Blaine’s ass, and one of Blaine’s hands flickered down between them, pulling out his own cock. He sighed into his touch, bucking his hips up against the bare skin of Sam’s stomach; Sam kissed him more deeply, rolling up to keep constant touch, but letting Blaine set his own pace, tend to his own needs.

            It was so profoundly like Blaine, Kurt thought, to make sure Sam was well taken care of and only then tend to himself, and to insist on getting there alone, too.

            The awkward angle of the camera paired with Blaine and Sam’s physical closeness made it so Kurt couldn’t quite see everything that was going on, but he didn’t need to anymore. Volume turned up loud enough to catch every gasp and every shuddering breath, Kurt closed his eyes, throwing his head back, losing himself in the heat of the moment, his hand on himself not nearly enough for him, craving desperately a real touch-

            “Kurt,” breathed Blaine, just barely audible.

            That did it.

            It hit him like a punch to the gut, pulsing through his entire body and leaving him breathless, almost trembling. _Kurt_ , he heard in his head, again and again, Blaine’s whining voice full of need and lusty with desire. He felt dizzy: for a moment or so he could do nothing but breathe, eyes still shut, even though he hated the mess and his first instinct, no matter how swept away he was with pleasure, was to clean it up.

            When he finally came back down enough to open his eyes dimly and listen once more to the other end, Blaine was also breathing heavily, lying flat on Sam’s body, one hand pressed between them. Something jumped up from Kurt’s stomach to his throat: Blaine had gone too. They might be five hundred miles apart, but they’d still somehow managed to reach their first orgasm together.

            “Fuck,” groaned Blaine, and Kurt blinked, unsure he’d heard that right: Blaine never swore.

            “Woah, dude,” said Sam, voicing Kurt’s thoughts. “You never swear.”

            Blaine laid his cheek on Sam’s chest, looking back down at the camera, at Kurt’s flushed, stunned face. He laughed.

            After a second, Sam joined in, throwing his hands back and grinning, with no hint of embarrassment. Kurt couldn’t even pretend not to smile, but he said, “I’m – okay, just – just – give me a second,” and rushed off camera to clean up, but was surprised to feel no familiar swell of shame associated with indulging his desires: all that came was a warmth and a peace and an all-consuming, overwhelming love for Sam and Blaine that felt like it was about to burst out his pores.

            When Kurt returned to his computer, Blaine was still slumped over Sam. Sam grinned and waved at the camera, and Kurt said, “ _Well_. For someone who’s usually so scheduled, Blaine, that was…unexpected.”

            “Can I just have,” mumbled Blaine, laying with his eyes closed on Sam’s chest, “like, five more minutes?”

            “Okay,” said Kurt fairly. “You certainly earned it.” To Sam, he asked, “So what do you think? Has your gay-cherry been properly popped?”

            “Well,” said Sam thoughtfully, “there’s still-”

            “Butt stuff,” murmured Blaine, at the exact moment Sam said it. Opening one eye, he looked at the camera and said, “I knew he was going to say that.”

            “Besides,” added Sam, “Blaine says narratives of virginity are inherently misogynistic.”

            “Yup,” said Blaine, nodding.

            Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think that applies in this particular case?”

            “Anyway,” said Sam happily. “That was _awesome_. I’m down for round two if anybody’s interested…”

            “No,” said Blaine, finally looking up. “My sheets are going to be dirty enough as is, next time maybe we should lay down a towel or something-”

            “There he is,” said Kurt admiringly. “I knew spontaneous-Blaine could only last for so long.”

            “He lasted longer than I did,” said Sam sincerely.

            Blaine giggled, and Kurt shook his head.

            There was a short silence.

            Then Blaine looked back down at the camera and asked, “How are you feeling, Kurt?”

            Exquisite. Perfect. Like glass – no. Like diamond. There were no words at all to describe how Kurt was feeling.

            “Good,” he said.

            Blaine reached out his hand – generously wiping it on his underwear first – and held it out towards the camera, as if grasping for Kurt’s hand.

            “I can’t wait to see you,” he said quietly.

            Kurt’s mouth felt dry. He had wanted Blaine before, but something had changed now, some line had been crossed. The desire was real now. Something physical, something less fragile, something that Kurt could touch without breaking.

            “Me too,” he said.

\----

            “Oh my God,” said Kurt, as the three of them spilled into the loft, each carrying a CW-stamped swag bag in their arms. “That was _awful_.”

            “It was so great!” said Sam enthusiastically. “People took so many pictures of me! I had no idea the Blonde Chameleon was so popular.”

            “He isn’t,” said Blaine, hefting his particularly heavy bag onto the table. “Everybody thought you were a whitewashed version of Kato from Green Hornet. What I don’t understand is why everyone kept asking me if I was supposed to be Nightwing.”

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” sighed Kurt. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll just have a spa day or something while you boys have your nerdy fun.”

            “No, come on,” whined Blaine, reaching out to paw at his boyfriend. “Tomorrow’s the last day. Come with us, it’ll be fun!” He grinned and said, “The Pink Power Ranger’ll be there. No, don’t look at me like that, I know you like her-”

            “That’s so embarrassing,” muttered Kurt, shaking his head. “I told you that in confidence, Blaine.”

            “Hey, come on – Sam cried when he got an autograph from Bill Shatner. We’re not embarrassed by our nerdiness Kurt, we revel in it.”

            “Wait, which Pink Power Ranger?” asked Sam thoughtfully. “Because Kimberly and Katherine are cool with me, and even though I didn’t really like Dana or Sydney I’m only _not_ okay with Jen, she totally broke Wes’s heart-”

            “Okay,” said Kurt, heading towards the bathroom. “I think that’s my cue to retreat. Call me when you’ve finished geeking out?”

            “Will do,” said Sam, raising a salute Kurt’s way.

            Blaine and Sam’s animated conversation on the day’s events took them all the way into the shower together, while Kurt finished up his moisturizing routine by his bed. He was amused and slightly surprised that, even while naked and slick with soapy water, Blaine and Sam couldn’t quit their arguing about the next Star Wars movie long enough to do anything remotely sexy (although they did manage a rousing duet of American Pie – but it might have been the Weird Al version).

            Finally emerging from the bathroom, a towel around his waist, Sam asked, “Oh hey, also, where’s Rachel? Is she coming home tonight?”

            “She’s in Lima,” answered Kurt, glancing around at him. Blaine came out as well, already wearing boxers and an undershirt – he was more self-conscious about his body than Sam. “You two must’ve passed her in the air on your way here.” He shrugged. “Ships in the night.”

            “Does she know about us?” asked Blaine, running his fingers through his non-gelled hair anxiously.

            “I don’t know,” answered Kurt honestly. “At this point she probably knows something is up, given that she hears half of my phone calls and Skype sessions with you two-”

            At the alarmed look on Blaine’s face, Kurt reassured him, “Not _that_ one, but most of them. She hasn’t asked me yet if I’m cheating on you Blaine, but I’m expecting that any day now. As far as I’m concerned, the less she knows, the better. I’m sick and tired of Rachel Berry sticking her nose in my business.”

            “Well, this is her home too,” said Blaine reasonably. “Inevitably, we’re all going to be here together sometime. At which point we’re going to have to open the lines of communication.”

            “Good luck with that,” muttered Kurt, on the last leg of his moisturizing routine.

            “Hey!” called Sam, jumping onto the bed; Blaine and Kurt turned around, and he batted his eyelashes seductively at them, patting the empty bed beside him. “Are we finally gonna get that spoon sandwich?”

            “The bed’s not that big,” said Kurt doubtfully. “We’re not going to fit.”

            “I’m pretty little,” said Blaine, jumping onto the bed with Sam. “We’ll fit. I’ll be in the middle?”

            “I think Kurt should be in the middle,” said Sam. “Boom-boom-boom. I spoon him, he spoons you. Everybody’s happy.”

            “Don’t you ever get tired of being the little spoon?” asked Kurt.

            “Are you kidding?” asked Blaine. “Not when I get to snuggle up to your boner.”

            “ _Blaine_ -”

            “ _Kurt_ ,” said Blaine, grinning at him. “Come on. We’re there. We’re at that point.”

            With a sigh of defeat, Kurt turned off his lamp and joined both boys in bed, where Blaine scooted over to allow Kurt to take his place in the middle, and they snuggled up.

            “Hey,” said Sam, draping one arm around Kurt’s waist, “tomorrow’s Sunday, right?”

            “Yes,” answered Kurt, doing the same to Blaine; Blaine took his hand, wiggling his ass very deliberately into Kurt’s lap.

            “Where do you go for church?”

            Blaine practically felt Kurt’s heart skip a beat.

            Kurt sat up, and twisted around in bed to face Sam. “What?” he asked.

            “Church,” answered Sam innocently, surprised at Kurt’s reaction. “My family goes every Sunday back in Lima. It’d feel weird skipping a week. Even when we didn’t have a home, we always made it to church.”

            Kurt didn’t know what to say: his first instinct was to get angry at Sam for believing something so stupid, for daring to bring it up in Kurt’s home, his safe place. But of course Sam had no way of knowing how Kurt felt about religion, having joined Glee Club mere days after the whole Grilled Cheesus incident. Others were, as Kurt had forced himself to accept back then, perfectly entitled to believe whatever they believed, as long as they didn’t force it on him. And Sam would never do that.

            And yet.

            “I don’t go to church,” said Kurt shortly. “I’m not religious. I don’t pray. I don’t believe in God and frankly I, for one, am shocked that you do given that, if He did exist, He would call _this_ ,” he gestured at the three of them, “an abomination in, like, ten different ways.”

            “Kurt,” began Blaine, uneasily.

            “Oh,” said Sam. “Really? I thought you were, like, definitely the altar boy type.”

            “That is offensive!”

            “Woah, woah, hold on,” said Blaine, getting up on his knees and reaching out between the two of them. “Sam, probably just – drop it, for now. Kurt, stop getting so defensive. He just asked a question.”

            Kurt didn’t say anything for a long moment, stewing in his anger. Then he lay back down, on his back so as not to participate in spooning on either side. The broadness of his shoulders meant that both Sam and Blaine were pushed almost to the edge of the bed.

            “I don’t like God,” said Kurt suddenly, with no provocation.

            Sam moved as if to say something, but Blaine gave him a look that kept him silent.

            “I don’t like Him as a concept because I think people use Him to excuse their own personal prejudices and judgments,” he continued, “and, in the event that I and everyone else with a brain capable of thinking for themselves are wrong, and He does actually exist, I still don’t like Him. I think he’s kind of a jerk. If He really does make all of us, then He made me gay, and He makes his followers hate me. I think that’s wrong.”

            Sam said, “That’s some Old Testament stuff though, it’s not really relevant. Jesus never said anything about gay people.”

            “Westboro does,” remarked Kurt.

            “Those wacky protest people? Look, they’re less Christian than _you_ are-”

            “I don’t care about Jesus,” said Kurt. “Please don’t talk to me about it, Sam. I’m just going to try and forget this whole conversation happened.”

            “Kurt, that’s not fair,” said Blaine. “Even though you personally may not be religious, being a Christian is an important part of Sam’s identity, and you’re totally invalidating that right now.”

            “Christianity fundamentally tries to invalidate _my_ entire identity-”

            “No it doesn’t,” insisted Sam. “My pastor says love your neighbor!”

            “‘Hate the sin not the sinner’ rhetoric is what justifies conversion therapy, Sam, it still means rejecting and hating who I am-”

            “I _don’t_ hate you, Kurt, I love-”

            “Don’t talk to me right now, please, Sam?” said Kurt loudly. “Just. You’ve been straight almost your whole life, and everybody still thinks you are anyway. You have no idea what it’s like. Blaine, back me up here.”

            Throwing a rueful glance Sam’s way, Blaine let out a sigh. “I don’t think we’ll get anywhere by arguing with each other. So why don’t we all just take a deep breath and calm down?”

            Ignoring this, Kurt rounded on Sam again and added, “Blaine and I have both been physically assaulted for being gay. You’ve never experienced that, Sam. Until you do, you don’t get to try and tell _me_ what to think just because you were brainwashed by Sunday school at a young age.”

            “That has nothing to do with this!” protested Sam. “Karofsky wasn’t even Christian!”

            “Kurt!” said Blaine again. “Seriously! Calm down!”

            Kurt fell silent, eyeing Sam sullenly.

            “Okay,” said Blaine, glancing between them cautiously. “Let’s not ruin a great weekend over a little theological disagreement. Sam, I’m sure you understand where Kurt’s coming from. Kurt, I’m sure you know that Sam would never want to hurt you-”

            “Doesn’t matter if he wants to or not,” muttered Kurt, “if he’s complicit in a system which institutionally preaches homophobia-”

            “My church _likes_ gay people-”

            “Sure,” said Kurt sarcastically, “and Hitler _liked_ Jews-”

            “Kurt!” said Blaine. “Way out of line!”

            “Why aren’t you supporting me here?” demanded Kurt. “You can’t possibly tell me that you think people who believe in God deserve your sympathy more than _me_.”

            “Okay, first of all,” began Blaine, shaking his head, “that is not at all what this is about. You’re just letting yourself get worked up about all this. Secondly, you don’t think anyone deserves sympathy more than you do, so that’s kind of an unfair question. If Sam wants to go to church, then we’ll Yelp a church in the morning and he’ll go. You don’t even have to get out of bed. Okay?”

            “You’ll go with him,” said Kurt scathingly. “Really.”

            “It’s New York, Kurt,” replied Blaine, rolling his eyes. “Whatever church is like here, it’s not going to be the cross-burning, fire and brimstone, God Hates F-A-Gs type of the Midwest. Not that all Midwestern churches are like that,” he added, when Sam opened his mouth to protest.

            Kurt didn’t say anything, obviously still injured.

            “Look,” said Sam; he hesitated, then tentatively reached out to take hold of Kurt’s hand. “I won’t go if it upsets you that much. Yeah, Jesus is important to me, but so are you. I’m not giving up on either of you.”

            Kurt didn’t reply to this, but he turned his head to glance slightly at Sam. He squeezed his fingers. “Thank you,” he said, quietly.

            “And thanks for offering to come with me, Blaine,” said Sam, looking across Kurt. “It probably wouldn’t be as cool as back home, but we’d still have fun.”

            Immediately, Kurt’s gaze whipped over to Blaine. “You go to church with him?”

            “I-” Blaine hesitated, considering his answer carefully. “Yes,” he admitted. “Once or twice. A couple times.”

            “ _Why?_ ”

            “Because it’s important to him,” said Blaine plainly. “My family isn’t that religious so I don’t really have any bad experiences with churches, and he said there’d be free doughnuts, and there were. I could sit through a sermon for free doughnuts.”

            “You could sit through a hate speech for free doughnuts.”

            “Maybe,” replied Blaine, “but that’s not what it was. It seemed kind of nice, actually.”

            “That’s how they get you…” muttered Kurt darkly.

            “Hey,” said Blaine, scooting down to lay his head on Kurt’s shoulder. “I don’t know if I believe all that talk about some kind of supernatural spirit in the sky – which reminds me, Spirit in the Sky would be a great number for the Glee Club, don’t let me forget – but, I mean. Either way, even in your weird, twisted idea of what God is… I can’t really hate Him. In a way, don’t you think He made you this way so that you could be…happy?”

            “What?” asked Kurt, in disbelief. “Are you actually saying this to me right now?”

            “I’m just saying,” continued Blaine. “If you blame God for making you gay, then…it’s His fault that we met, isn’t it? That we fell in love? And if I’m your bliss – which I _want_ to be, Kurt, and I hope I am – then…isn’t all that worth it? However bad it’s been, aren’t you at least a little bit grateful, for us?”

            “Fine,” said Kurt. “What about all the other gay kids who don’t make it to where we are?”

            “I don’t know,” said Blaine, reaching up to plant a kiss on Kurt’s cheek. “I don’t have all the answers. I got the impression that, when it comes to God, you’re not supposed to have all the answers.”

            “Which is why it’s a fundamentally flawed system of belief.”

            “If you’re so against the church,” said Sam – and he didn’t sound aggressive, only genuinely curious – “then why are you guys gonna get married?”

            Both Kurt and Blaine looked up at him, Blaine slightly in horror.

            “Tax benefits,” said Kurt.

            “That’s romantic,” said Blaine.

            “And as a symbol of our everlasting love,” Kurt added.

            “That’s more like it,” said Blaine.

            “But marriage is a sacred religious union-”

            “Is that what they teach you in Sunday school?” sighed Kurt. “Honey, marriage is legally legislated by the government. There’s nothing sacred about it anymore.”

            “Well,” mumbled Blaine, “maybe a little sacred, in a secular kind of way-”

            “That’s not what the Bible says,” said Sam.

            “Have I not yet made it clear enough that I don’t care what the Bible says?”

            “Besides,” added Blaine, “it’s a political statement, too. No matter what any bigot says, this country is headed towards marriage equality in all fifty states, I know it. We’re just going to catch the wave before it crashes.”

            “But you guys,” continued Sam thoughtfully, “especially you, Kurt, you’ve always been, like, one step ahead of the hetero crowd. You never really fit in, but you always made it sound like that was what made you strong. Being different makes you special, and all of that. If you guys get married, doesn’t that in a way kind of make you, like, doing the same thing as all those straight people?”

            “No,” said Kurt, without skipping a beat. “Because we’re not getting straight-married, Sam. We’re getting gay-married. There is literally a world of difference.”

            Blaine, on the other hand, watched Sam with slightly narrowed eyes, lost in thought. “You know,” he said, looking around at Kurt, “he might have a point…”

            “Oh, whatever.” Kurt held up his left hand, and pointed to the ring on his finger. “This ring means we’re getting married,” he said firmly. “And the only way they’re taking that away from me is if they pry it off my cold, dead hand.”

            “That’s morbid,” said Blaine.

            “And it’s worth it for the tax benefits,” repeated Kurt, with an air of finality, “and to make all those homophobes squirm.”

            “We don’t even pay taxes yet,” muttered Blaine, but Kurt ignored him until he added, “But, yeah. Gay power.”

            “Okay,” said Sam slowly, considering this. “Next question: what happens to…us, after you two get married?”

            Neither Kurt nor Blaine had an answer to this right away.

            “Nothing,” said Kurt, scooting up to sit up in bed, and lean towards Sam. “Nothing happens. Nothing changes, if you don’t want it to.”

            There was an uncharacteristic sheen of self-consciousness in Sam’s eyes, genuine worry that he rarely displayed. “But you two are gonna be married,” he said. “And one day you’re gonna be living together and you’re probably gonna have a dog-”

            “Cat,” corrected Kurt confidently.

            “-and, like, who knows, you might adopt babies someday-”

            “We’ll use a surrogate,” said Blaine helpfully.

            “-and am I still gonna be that guy that you guys sometimes fool around with on Skype?”

            “Well,” said Blaine fairly, “by then I hope we’ll be doing it in person-”

            “And that’s not who you are, Sam,” said Kurt, his voice carefully measured. “You’re more than that, to both of us. You know that, right?”

            “Yeah, I know that,” said Sam. “But is that how it’s gonna be forever?”

            “Well, nothing is forever,” said Blaine, and at Kurt’s sour look he added, “I mean, except for the love Kurt and I have for each other, of course, but I mean – nothing is _static_ forever. People change. Relationships develop. And I don’t want you to feel like we’re holding you hostage or something. For Kurt and I, this,” he gestured between the three of them, “is exclusive. But…it doesn’t have to be for you, Sam. If you want your future to go in a different direction, then don’t let us hold you back.”

            Sam looked at Blaine. His eyes welled up with a shine that betrayed his emotions, always close to the surface. “I don’t wanna leave you guys,” he said gruffly, blinking away the wetness. The tears caught on his eyelashes, and Kurt reached out and gently swept his thumb underneath Sam’s eye.

            “That’s not what he’s saying,” said Kurt, his eyes fixed tenderly, but determinedly, on Sam. “We’re not going to leave you anytime soon. Never, if that’s what you want. But we are getting married,” he continued, “and if that means you want to…explore other options, then we’re not about to tell you no.”

            It looked like Sam wanted to say something, so they waited for him; after a minute or two, he looked up at them tentatively, eyes big like a puppy’s, and asked, “Could we get three-way married?”

            “In our hearts,” said Blaine, clapping one hand over his chest.

            “I don’t think America is ready for that yet, Sam,” added Kurt, a little smile on his face. “Honestly, if we’re talking about alternative romantic options,” he continued, laying back down, tugging on Sam’s arm to bring him down too, “I vote you call Mercedes, you two had some incredible sexual chemistry way back when.”

            “We never actually did the do, you know.”

            “Of course you didn’t,” said Kurt matter-of-factly. “Mercedes is saving herself for marriage.”

            Blaine tucked himself back in along the curve of Kurt’s body. “How do you know that?” he asked, curious.

            “Are you kidding me? She and I were literally the only virgins in Glee Club.”

            “Um,” said Blaine, raising his hand.

            “You were different,” Kurt said soothingly. “You wanted to do it. She and I weren’t ready. She totally understood me.” He sighed, and added, “That reminds me, I don’t talk to her nearly enough. Maybe I’ll call her while you two are geeking out tomorrow.”

            With a rush of anxiety in his voice, Sam asked, “Are you going to tell her about me?”

            “I don’t believe in outing, Sam,” said Kurt. “You can have that conversation with her when you’re good and ready. But,” he added, “if you end up getting back together, you do have to tell her.”

            “I liked Mercedes,” said Blaine inconsequentially. “I think she’ll be cool with it.”

            “You didn’t really know Mercedes, Blaine,” Kurt pointed out. “Honestly, how she’ll react is anyone’s guess. But anyway,” he continued, leaning back into Sam’s chest, “it’s all hypothetical for now. She’s still off chasing the dream in LA, and you’re here three thousand miles away.”

            “Long distance can work, though,” said Blaine, twisting around to look at Sam encouragingly. “We make it work with Kurt.”

            “ _Kurt_ is close enough that you two can visit for the weekend,” said Kurt pointedly. “Let’s try not to pine whilst we are literally snuggling each other, shall we?”

            “Okay,” said Sam, laying a kiss on the back of Kurt’s neck, which sent shivers down his spine. “No pining. Only snuggling.”

            “Snuggling,” said Kurt, eyes fluttering closed. “And, well. I wouldn’t object to…maybe a touch more.”

            “Oh – do you want to be the biggest spoon?”

            Blaine giggled, and Kurt let out a long-suffering sigh and took Sam’s hand, sliding it downwards and placing it unmistakably below the belt.

            “Oh,” said Sam. “Yeah. Yeah? Hell yeah. I can do that.”

            He kissed the porcelain skin of Kurt’s neck again, and Blaine pressed his body against Kurt’s a little more urgently. Blood rushed up to Kurt’s face and down to his lap, and he allowed himself to lay loosely in between Sam and Blaine, sinking into their heat.

            In a brief flash of clarity, it occurred to him that this was solid proof that God was a myth. Religion said that all good things came from God, that he imparted blessings unto those who were deserving. Well, then God had nothing to do to this, because Kurt knew there was nothing he could have ever done to deserve the thrill of Sam’s breath in his ear, or the clean scent of Blaine’s curly hair as he pressed against Kurt, in desperate need of touch.

\----

            Sam and Blaine were playing video games.

            In a room upstairs, Blaine’s mother could be heard leaving a series of angry-sounding voicemails on her husband’s cell phone, but Blaine, embarrassed, had turned up the volume of the video game to cover this, so all other noise was drowned out by the sounds of machine guns shooting and heads exploding and heavy, steel-toed footsteps.

            “Hey,” said Blaine.

            “Hey,” said Sam, without waiting for Blaine to say anything else. He shot a grin Blaine’s way.

            Without pausing the game – Blaine was winning, because Blaine won at everything, although this was a good thing because he and Sam were on the same team against some twelve-year-olds from across the country – Blaine continued, “So, can we talk about the other night?”

            “Yeah,” said Sam. “I was thinking about it all night too, I didn’t think I’d like that new character Jada Pinkett Smith is playing, but you know what, she’s really growing on me.”

            “What? No, Sam, I’m not talking about our _Gotham_ liveblogs.”

            “Then what are you talking about?”

            “The lock-in,” he said, shooting some other character straight in the face. The word _HEADSHOT!_ flashed on the screen in big red letters dripping with computer-animated blood.

            “Oh,” said Sam. “Yeah, sorry for ditching you to go make out with Tina, I guess. Probably should’ve warned you first.”

            “It’s okay,” said Blaine grimly. “Really, I was just mad because I’m still rooting for her and Artie to work out.”

            “No way, man. Team McTina Cohen-Chang-Chang all the way.”

            “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Blaine. “I…couldn’t help but notice that, during our impromptu performance of Don’t You Forget About Me-”

            “Which was epic, by the way,” said Sam, grinning.

            “Yes,” said Blaine, “it was. But when we broke into the Cheerios locker room…you picked a girl’s uniform.”

            “Yeah,” said Sam. “What, guys can’t wear skirts?”

            “Absolutely,” said Blaine quickly. “Of course men can wear skirts, Kurt wore a skirt to prom, remember?”

            “Technically,” said Sam, “I think that was a kilt.”

            “My concern is,” he continued, deftly eliminating a squad of snipers from the other team, “that you were wearing it as…a joke.”

            “Um,” said Sam, “I was.”

            “Okay,” said Blaine, taking this in stride. “Well. I mean. I find that…problematic.”

            “Why?” asked Sam.

            “Because it’s offensive,” said Blaine. “Acting like a guy in women’s clothing is just this funny, weird thing is not only disrespectful the proud history of drag queens in our community, but it’s also complicit in the dehumanization of transgender women. I mean, how do you think Unique would feel if she saw you, a cisgender guy, running around in a skirt like it’s some kind of joke?”

            “What does cisgender mean again?”

            “When you’re born, the doctor says, ‘It’s a boy!’ and the whole rest of your life you’re like, ‘Yep, I’m definitely a dude.’”

            “But guys can wear skirts,” said Sam, confused.

            “Yes, sure, but…it’s the intent, Sam.”

            “I’m not making fun of Unique,” he said.

            “I know you aren’t,” said Blaine patiently. “But I just think maybe that means you should be more sensitive to what’s going through your head when you make jokes like that.”

            There was silence for a couple minutes, except for the loud shooting from the TV. Blaine’s mom came down stairs. “You boys hungry?” she asked, pausing at the entrance to the living room.

            “We’re good, Mom,” replied Blaine, glancing around at her. “Thanks.”

            “Let me know.”

            “Thanks, Mrs. Anderson,” said Sam.

            She withdrew. The game ended: Sam and Blaine’s team won.

            Sam leaned back on the couch. “Can I tell you something?” he asked.

            “You can tell me anything,” said Blaine firmly.

            “It’s…about somebody else.”

            Blaine considered this for a second, looking at Sam. “If it isn’t your secret to tell…”

            “I think I gotta tell someone,” said Sam, looking down at his controller, picking at the buttons. “I’ve kinda been…worrying about it for a while.”

            “Okay,” said Blaine. “What’s up?”

            There was a long pause, one which extended so long Blaine actually felt a swell of concern. He had no idea what to expect, but he had a very bad, sinking feeling in his stomach, terrified that it was going to be something awful.

            “So…,” began Sam. “You know how Kurt gave me some of his old clothes a couple years ago?”

            “Yes,” answered Blaine.

            “They weren’t really my style,” said Sam. “Finn gave me some stuff later. But I kept Kurt’s stuff, because it meant a lot to me and you never know when you’re gonna need it, you know? Anyway,” he said, “a while ago, I guess Stevie must’ve gotten into it somehow, and I found him trying on Kurt’s clothes.”

            Blaine blinked at Sam. “Your little brother?”

            Sam nodded.

            “So…Stevie likes men’s fashion?”

            Sam shook his head.

            “I think Stevie’s a girl,” he said, looking up at Blaine.

            Blaine stared at him. “Hold on,” he said. “Just because a little boy likes kind of feminine things doesn’t necessarily mean they’re trans. Look at Kurt, he loves conventionally feminine things, and he’s as cis as you get.”

            “That’s what I thought too, at first,” continued Sam earnestly. “But I started talking to him, and he told me that he kind of wanted to try on some of Stacey’s clothes but he was afraid people would make fun of him, and I told him of course I wouldn’t and neither would Stacey. And then he said that he wanted to grow his hair long like mine and – look, Blaine, I know he’s only eight years old, but he seemed so messed up over this. I asked him if maybe there was another name he wanted to use, you know, like Unique-” Blaine nodded approvingly “-but he said, no, Stevie’s good, but Stevie’s a girl’s name too, like Stevie Nicks? But I didn’t want to pressure him or anything,” he added quickly, “so, you know, that’s why I’ve been wearing the butterfly clips in my hair and stuff-”

            “Oh, yeah,” said Blaine brightly. “I noticed those, they were cute.”

            “Thanks,” said Sam, with a grin. “And that’s kind of why I went with the skirt. I gotta get it into my head that being a man is, like, a way bigger category than I ever thought before, and maybe Stevie’s just kind of girly-”

            “Femme,” corrected Blaine. “The word is femme.”

            “Right, that.”

            Blaine thought about this. “Well,” he began, “was there something in particular that makes you think he’s – possibly she’s – transgender?”

            “He told me,” said Sam.

            “Oh,” said Blaine, taken aback. “Well. That would be pretty definitive.”

            “He and Stacey are twins, right?” continued Sam, leaning in. “So when I was helping him with his homework one day, which was really great because usually Mom or Dad helps them, but I’ve been able to a lot more lately since we started studying together – but anyway, he asked me why he wasn’t a girl like Stacey, even though they’re twins. And I told him that… if he wanted to, he could be.”

            “That’s great, Sam,” said Blaine honestly. “That’s probably the best thing you could’ve said.”

            Ruefully, Sam said, “I should’ve asked him about pronouns…”

            “He’s eight,” said Blaine. “I don’t even think he knows what a pronoun is.”

            “They did parts of speech in school last month,” said Sam pointedly. “He got an A on his test.” Sam beamed proudly at Blaine. “Stevie’s really smart. Him and Stacey both.”

            There was a short silence.

            “I just wish I could tell him how much he means to me,” said Sam, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I only had him and Stacey, back when we first lost our house, and then when we moved away. They’re so important to me. And I just want to…protect them. And make sure they’re happy and safe and nobody ever hurts them.”

            Blaine watched his friend for a moment.

            Then he set down the controller in his hand, and removed the headset from his ears.

            “I have an idea,” he said.

            Sam looked up at him. “What is it?”

            “Well,” said Blaine. “What do we always do, when there’s something important we need to say?”

            Sam looked at him for a moment, then his face split into a grin.

\----

            It was a Monday holiday, a long weekend: schools were closed, but precious little else was, so Mr. and Mrs. Evans were gone at work. Sam and Blaine were babysitting Stevie and Stacey. Blaine had brought his guitar, and gave a lesson to Stacey as Sam watched TV with Stevie. Stevie leaned onto Sam’s shoulder, eyes staring dully at the cartoon before them.

            In the other room, Blaine held his guitar in his lap as he quietly told something to Stacey, whose eyes lit up as she nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, great,” he said, grinning at her. He held up a hand, which she gleefully high-fived. “Now go get Stevie and Sam.”

            Dutifully, she did so. “Stevie!” she called, running into the living room. “Sammy! C’mere! Blaine and me want to show you something!”

            Stevie looked up, and Sam grabbed him under his arms, swinging him off the couch and onto his feet. “Hey, look at that,” said Sam, grinning at Stevie. “Wonder what it is!”

            Heading into the kitchen, Sam grabbed his own guitar, which he’d left leaning against the wall, waiting for this moment.

            Stacey grabbed Stevie’s hands and pulled him up to a seat beside her. Blaine sat across the table from them, and Sam stood beside him, digging in his pocket for a guitar pick.

            “Okay,” said Blaine, as Sam tuned his guitar a little bit, “Stevie, Stacey – I was talking to your brother a while ago, and he told me that there was a lot he wanted to say to you two, to let you guys know how much he cares about you, and how proud of you both he is. And because he and I both love music so much – and we know you do too – we thought, what better way to do that than through song?”

            Stacey grinned broadly at Blaine, eager to hear the song. Stevie peered up at them with wide eyes, flickering to glance over at Sam.

            “Right,” said Sam, nodding at them. “This is for both of you. But especially you, Stevie. I want you to know that I love you no matter who you are. Lots of people in this world don’t find out they’re different until they’re much older, because as a kid, they didn’t have anybody to tell them that being different is okay. Well, here I am, and I’m gonna be that person for you. Being different is okay. In fact, it’s better than okay. It’s awesome. Being different makes you special,” he said, and Blaine’s heart swelled as he imagined how Kurt would feel, if he could hear Sam talking like this, “and you are special, Stevie. You’re special to me, and to Stacey and Blaine too. With us, all you have to do is be yourself. And we’re gonna love you no matter what.”

            Stevie blinked up at him. He bit his lip.

            “So!” continued Sam, a sparkle in his eye. “Blaine and I are gonna sing a song for you, written by an awesome, kickass lady who was also named Stevie.”

            He grinned, then took hold of his guitar and said, “One, two, three, four…”

            

  _Rock on, gold dust woman…_

             As usual, Blaine took the lead; Sam focused on playing his guitar, occasionally providing backup harmonies. The original song wasn’t exactly upbeat and happy, but they’d practiced playing it a little quicker, with a little more joy. Clearly the twins felt it: Stacey got to her feet and grabbed Stevie’s hands, wheeling him around and dancing wildly. At one point, Sam sang, and Blaine handed his guitar to Stacey, showing her which chords to play to join in with Sam.

  _Rock on, ancient queen  
__Follow those who pale in your shadow_

            Stevie grinned up at Sam, who grinned back and sang at him; Stevie buried his face in his arms on the table, embarrassed. Unable to look away for long, he got back up a few seconds later, bouncing along to the beat, shaking his hair, which was delicately pinned back with a little pink clip Blaine recognized from seeing it in Sam’s hair.

_Oh, pale shadow of a woman,_  
_Black widow,_  
_Oh, pale shadow, she’s a dragon,  
_ _Gold dust woman…_

            As they finished the song, Stacey giggled and threw her arms around Stevie. They both clapped, grinning and laughing as Blaine got to his feet and he and Sam took a bow, together.

            “Stacey,” said Sam. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to give to Stevie?”

            “Oh, yeah!” said Stacey, and she disappeared, running out of the room. Stevie looked around at Sam, his big eyes blinking in confusion. Before he could ask anything, Stacey raced back into the room, clutching something in her hands.

            “This is for you,” she said breathlessly to Stevie, holding out what she had gone to fetch.

            Stevie’s jaw dropped. He gaped at the dress in Stacey’s hands – one of her favorite dresses, white with golden sunflowers bursting into bloom all over it, her Sunday best.

            Nervously, Stevie glanced up at Sam.

            “It’s okay,” said Sam, motioning for Stevie to take the dress. “Go ahead.”

            “I know you like my dresses,” continued Stacey, as Stevie gingerly took the dress from her hands. “I know you really don’t like those stuffy clothes Mommy makes you wear for church so maybe this week you can wear my dress. And when your hair gets long enough,” she said, reaching out to touch Stevie’s blonde hair, which was almost as long as Sam’s, “I can braid it for you, and I can paint your nails like I do for Blaine anyway,” Blaine’s nails had been a bright pink for a week, and he grinned at her, “and I can teach you _all_ about being a girl. I’ll tell Miss Matson you’re a girl too if you don’t want to tell her. And I’ll punch anybody who says you’re not!”

            “Atta girl,” said Sam, wiping away a tear.

            “Um, okay,” interjected Blaine. “Let’s try to avoid punching anyone but, for most of that – seconded.”

            “Thirded,” said Sam. “Turns out you two are identical twins after all! That’s what you can tell people anyway.”

            Holding Stacey’s dress, Stevie said nothing for a long moment.

            And then she burst into tears, burying her face into the sunflower-adorned dress and wailing.

            Immediately Sam darted forward, shoving his guitar towards Blaine, and wrapped Stevie in his arms. “Shh,” he said, sitting down and rocking her back and forth. “Stevie, it’s okay. I love you. We all love you. I’ll help you tell Mom and Dad, okay? It’ll be okay. It’s okay, Stevie.”

            Stevie sobbed into Sam’s chest, and Stacey reached out and embraced her too, leaning her head against her back. Blaine sat there, holding both guitars, a rush of affection for Sam rising in his chest.

\----

            On a Wednesday afternoon after school, Blaine had booked the auditorium for his NYADA audition. He hadn’t rehearsed with Sam for a week; he believed, in the spirit of good luck, that too much rehearsal too close to the performance could turn you stale and overwrought. He was planning to perform Why from _tick, tick…BOOM!_ , which Sam had never heard of, but Sam had never heard of most off-Broadway musicals (or regular Broadway musicals, for that matter).

            Sam had cried the first time Blaine sang it for him, wiping at his eyes with no hint of self-consciousness. “That’s beautiful,” he’d said gruffly. “Can you sing it one more time? Now that I know it’s a sad song I want to hear it over again to get the full effect.”

            Blaine had laughed, kissed him, and performed it once more.

            Wednesday morning when Sam got to school, Blaine’s car wasn’t in the parking lot. This was unusual for Blaine, who tended to be either precisely on time or otherwise, on rare occasion, disastrously late. As the other members of Glee Club passed Sam on their way in – Tina stopped to ask where Blaine was, and Sam said he didn’t know but she should ahead to class. “You need to go to class too, Sam,” she’d said.

            “I’ll wait for him,” he replied. “Just until the late bell rings.”

            He promised her this, and she sighed and nodded and headed into school. The warning bell rang, giving four minutes to get to class. Sam texted Blaine again. _Dude you can’t be sick today. You have the audition_.

            Finally, a car Sam recognized from seeing it parked outside of Blaine’s house turned into the school parking lot, and Sam let out a sigh of relief, waving at the man in the driver’s seat – Blaine’s dad. Blaine rode shotgun, clutching his suede schoolbag in his lap, looking pale.

            “Hi, Mr. Anderson,” said Sam, leaning down to peer in the window as the car rolled to a stop by the curb.

            “Morning, Sam.” On the other side of the car, Blaine got out. “Shouldn’t you be in class by now?”

            “I was waiting for Blaine,” said Sam, nodding to Blaine as he came around the front of the car. He tucked an arm around Blaine’s shoulders, who shook him off. “You feeling okay?” he asked.

            “Yeah,” said Blaine. “’Bye Dad.”

            “Blaine,” said Mr. Anderson.

            The grimace on Blaine’s face made Sam take a step back, wildly interested in a passing butterfly as Blaine leaned down to the car window, and his father said something to him. He didn’t sound angry; on the contrary, his low muttering seemed to be in a tone of concern, as if checking that his son was all right.

            “Yeah,” mumbled Blaine. “I promise.”

            “All right,” said Mr. Anderson, as Blaine straightened up and stepped away from the car. “Good luck today, son. Your mother said she’ll try to get off work early to come pick you up after your audition.”

            “That’s okay,” said Sam immediately. “My dad gets Wednesday afternoons off, we can give Blaine a ride home.”

            Mr. Anderson looked at Sam, then at Blaine. “Just text me or your mom and let us know,” he said. “Have a good day.”

            He drove off.

            The late bell rang, and Blaine turned to head into school.

            “Hey,” said Sam, reaching out to take hold of him; Blaine immediately pulled away, as if flinching against a blow. “Hey,” said Sam again, concerned now. “Dude. Are you okay?”

            “I’m fine,” said Blaine.

            “Why was your dad driving you today? Did your car break or something?”

            “No,” said Blaine. “Sam, I said I’m fine.”

            “Yeah, but you’re obviously not,” said Sam. When

            Blaine ignored him, Sam reached out once more to grab him: this time after Blaine pulled away, he pushed back, hard, and said, “Stop _pushing_ me.”

            “I’m _not_ pushing you,” said Sam, holding out his hands. They stood outside the doors to the school’s main hall. “Dude, talk to me! What’s going on?” Blaine didn’t answer. “Are you nervous for the audition?” he asked. “Because you are going to _rock_ it, I know you are. You’re the new Rachel Berry, remember? And they let her in even though she totally blew her first audition, there’s really no way you can be worse than that-”

            “I’m not auditioning,” said Blaine shortly.

            Sam blinked at him. “You’re what?”

            “Not auditioning,” he repeated, slowly, as if Sam hadn’t understood him the first time. “I tried calling Kurt to tell him but apparently he’s too busy to pick up his phone.”

            “He doesn’t have class until twelve on Wednesdays,” said Sam. “He didn’t answer because he probably isn’t even awake yet. You’re confusing my head right now, what’s going on? Did something happen? Did you forget all the words or something? See, this is why I told you you _should’ve_ kept practicing-”

            “I knew you’d do this,” murmured Blaine, shaking his head.

            “Do what?”

            “Completely ignore what I’m saying,” answered Blaine heatedly, “and totally invalidate my feelings.”

            “Invalidate – Blaine, I am all about your feelings! You know sometimes I think I’m more about your feelings than you are, because I _know_ you want this audition, I know how much you want to get into NYADA, this is crazy talk right now-”

            Before Sam knew what was happening, Blaine shoved him again, harder this time. “Don’t _call_ me that,” snarled Blaine, his eyes flashing in an ugly grimace.

            “I didn’t mean _you_ -”

            “Yeah you did,” said Blaine; he sounded genuinely hurt now. “Here’s the thing, Sam. I’ve been so wrapped up in dedicating my life to you and to Kurt that it never occurred to me to stop and think of myself for once, so I’m doing it now, and I’ve decided that I’m not auditioning, I’m not going to NYADA, I don’t even know if I want to go to New York.”

            “What?” asked Sam, in shock. “Where is this coming from?”

            Blaine looked at Sam wordlessly for a second, his lips pressed tightly together. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, some sign of recognition or softness that might have been an admittance of surrender.

            But then it passed, and Blaine shook his head. “Please don’t talk to me,” he muttered as he passed Sam. “You’re really pressuring me right now.”

            He headed into the school.

            Sam wanted to grab Blaine and demand he tell him what was going on, but he knew how weirdly aggressive Blaine could get, and he knew that he was actually really scary when he got into intense boxing mode, so Sam didn’t want to push it. They didn’t have any classes together, but the whole day Sam kept trying to find Blaine between classes. He glimpsed him once at his locker, but Blaine had disappeared down the busy hallway by the time Sam caught up with him.

            In second period, he got a text from Kurt. _Is Blaine ok?_

He raised his hand to be excused to the bathroom, his phone tucked in his back pocket. In front of the mirror in the bathroom next to the choir room, he pulled out his phone and called Kurt.

            “He left me a very shouty voicemail at like five AM this morning,” explained Kurt, when Sam asked, “in which he kind of broke up with me, but then ended it by crying and telling me he loves me like, twenty-seven times.”

            “He seems kind of messed up,” said Sam. “Probably nerves, right? Were you this nervous before your audition?”

            “I mean, I was a _little_ nervous – but he loves performing.”

            Sam looked hard into the mirror, meeting his own gaze. “It’s kind of been a while since he had an episode,” he said.

            Kurt didn’t answer this; he knew that Blaine occasionally lost his cool, a symptom of whatever was going on in his head, but before Blaine had told Kurt about his disorder he’d kept those days mostly to himself, and the habit hadn’t exactly changed even after he told Kurt. Most of the time Blaine’s borderline personality showed up in the margins, in the little things that took his everyday actions to extremes. But sometimes it spilled over into more than that, into more than Blaine could handle. Kurt had gathered the impression that Sam had been there for Blaine on a number of bad days before, and if he was at all hurt by Blaine’s dependence on Sam it was – and he did feel guilty about this, but only in the back of his mind, like a vaguely troubled conscience – it was overshadowed by the relief he felt at not having to handle Blaine when he got so annoyingly delicate, like he was made of glass. As much as he regretted it, Kurt just didn’t have the temperament to walk on eggshells around Blaine.

            There had been one night, a couple months ago, when Blaine had called Kurt late at night and cried and cried to him on the phone. Kurt hadn’t had to do anything but lay there on the phone with him, awkwardly wishing he knew what to say. Somehow, thankfully, that had seemed to be enough.

            “He can do this,” said Sam, jerking Kurt away from his thoughts. “I believe in him.”

            “Me too,” said Kurt. “Tell him for me?”

            “Yeah, I will.”

            “Tell him I love him.”

            “Yeah.”

            “You too, Sam.”

            “I love you too Kurt.”

            “Can you have him call me when it’s over?”

            “If he’s up to it.”

            Kurt hesitated. “You know, there has got to be something in the rules about rescheduling due to a severe mental breakdown, or something-”

            “Aren’t you not supposed to call it a ‘mental breakdown’ anymore?”

            “Okay, then what do you call it?”

            “I don’t know,” said Sam. “Blaine only told me you shouldn’t use it, not what to use instead.”

            “Well,” sighed Kurt, “that sounds like him.”

            “I gotta get back to class. I’ll keep you updated.”

            “All right. Thanks.”

            He hung up.

            A few classes later, Sam wanted to rush out to lunch as soon as the bell rang, but Ms. Hutch stopped him to congratulate him on his latest essay, on which he had received his highest grade all year, an 82%. Part of him wanted to explain that this was definitely due in part to Blaine and his careful, scheduled study sessions, but he didn’t waste the time: he sprinted out of the classroom as quickly as he could, heading towards the cafeteria.

            There he found Tina in tears at their regular table, Brittany and Artie patting her on the shoulder consolingly. “Tina,” he said. “What happened?”  
            Sniffling, Tina said, “B-Blaine got t-two plates of tots, and then I said, ‘That’s a lot of tots,’ and then he th-threw them all over me and stormed out!”

            Sam’s first instinct was to run off to find Blaine, but he paused, joining Brittany and Artie in consoling Tina for a moment. “Are you okay?”

            Swallowing her tears, she nodded. “Is _he_ okay?” she asked. “Did I do something? I don’t know why he was so angry at me-”

            “He’s not angry at you,” Sam reassured her. “He’s just nervous. Listen,” he said, “I’m kind of getting the feeling that this whole audition thing might go sideways, but I know that this is important to him even if he doesn’t right now. So I’m gonna need some help from you and the rest of the Glee Club…”

            After he told them his plan, he headed out of the cafeteria, trying to think of where Blaine would go next. He almost ran into Mr. Schuester, who was heading towards the teacher’s lounge, papers in hand.

            “Mr. Schue!” said Sam, picking up some papers that had dropped from Mr. Schue’s hands. “Have you seen Blaine?”

            “Yeah,” he replied, a little surprised. “He seemed upset, did his audition go okay?”

            “He hasn’t had it yet,” said Sam. “Did he say where he was going?”

            “No, but – he did mention something about needing some fresh air-”

            Sam was already sprinting down the hall, towards the entrance of the school. “Thanks, Mr. Schue!” he called over his shoulder.

            He got outside and looked around frantically. Blaine wasn’t in the parking lot, nor was he loitering around the dumpsters, or, as Sam ran around the school grounds, sitting on the bleachers or under them or chain-smoking with the stoners behind the school. Breath coming in pained gasps, a stitch in his side, he looked around desperately. What if Blaine had just started walking home? He wasn’t answering Sam’s texts, or picking up his phone. Where would he possibly go?

            Sam glanced up at the sky, clear blue with the impending spring.

            His heart froze, then bounded so heart it felt like it would beat right out of his chest, and without thinking he found a well-placed dumpster, climbed on top of it, then jumped onto the top of a Porta Potty, then grabbed a gutter and heaved himself onto the school roof.

            On the flat concrete in the middle of the roof, Blaine sat on a wide ledge, holding his legs to his chest. He watched Blaine with big, sad eyes, his lip not quite still enough to hide his pout.

            “That was cool,” he said, as Sam stood there cautiously, watching him. “You really were the Blonde Chameleon for a second there.”

            Out of breath, Sam shrugged. “Jake does parkour a little,” he said. “He taught me some.”

            Blaine nodded. Dully, he looked back out across campus.

            For a second, Sam cast about desperately, trying to figure out what to say. Slowly, he took a step forward. “Blaine,” he said. “I get that you’re not happy right now, but…what are you doing?”

            “Sitting,” said Blaine.

            When Sam didn’t move any further, Blaine threw an unimpressed look his way.

            “It’s things like this which tell me you honestly don’t care about this relationship as much as I thought you did,” he said. “Didn’t I put a copy of my psych eval in the emergency information binder I made for you and Kurt? Did you even read it?”

            “Yes,” responded Sam defensively. “Blaine, can you come over here, please?”

            “No,” Blaine shot back. “And obviously you didn’t read it, because if you had then you’d know that there was no mention at all of suicidal tendencies, like, at _all_ , so no, Sam, I’m not thinking about jumping, I’m just _sitting_. Okay?”

            “Look, Blaine,” said Sam. “I _know_ people with borderlands personality disorder can get – feelings like that, I’ve Googled it-”

            “ _Borderline_ ,” said Blaine, in exasperation. “How many times do I have to correct you? I swear, if you paid half as much attention to me as I do to you-”

            “I _am_ paying attention,” insisted Sam; he jogged forward towards Blaine, then sat down next to him. “I’m listening to you,” he said, reaching out to take Blaine’s shoulder; Blaine shrugged him off. “But it goes both ways, man. You gotta tell me what’s going on.”

            Blaine leaned his chin on his knees, not looking at Sam.

            Then, quietly, he said, “I’m not going to audition.”

            Sam didn’t think it would be much use to argue, at this point. “Why not?”

            “Because I’m not going to get in,” said Blaine, his voice hard.

            “What?” asked Sam, in disbelief. “Are you serious? You’re the most talented guy in Ohio. Probably in all of America. Of course you’re going to get in.”

            “But I might not.”

            “But you will.”

            “But what if I don’t?” he asked, his voice sharp and slicing, his gaze jerking to Sam. “Everybody’s telling me that I’m going to do it, Sam. Do you know how much pressure that is? What do I do if, I don’t know, if by some random chance of fate, my application gets lost or something, and I don’t get in? What do I tell to all those people who took it totally for granted that I’d be at NYADA next fall? Everybody’s going to be disappointed in me. I can’t handle that.”

            “I wouldn’t be disappointed,” said Sam earnestly, leaning in. “You couldn’t do anything ever to disappoint me.”

            Blaine buried his face in his arms, unable to look at Sam.

            He said something, but so quietly that his voice was muffled and inaudible. “What?” asked Sam.

            Blaine looked up, just enough to glance at Sam. “What if I don’t want to go?”

            Sam stared at him. “But you do,” he said, confused.

            They didn’t say anything for a moment, their eyes connected.

            Then Blaine looked away. “Kurt’s gonna be so mad at me,” he said.

            “Blaine,” said Sam. “You don’t have to go to NYADA if you don’t want to. But I’m really worried that if you skip out on this audition today, then you’re gonna wake up tomorrow really angry at yourself for this. You don’t have to go,” he repeated, when Blaine opened his mouth to protest, “but you don’t have to make that decision right this very second. Either way, I’ll be here.”

            “No you won’t,” said Blaine.

            “I love you,” said Sam.

            “No, you don’t,” said Blaine.

            “Kurt loves you too.”

            “No,” said Blaine, “he doesn’t.”

            “Yes, he does! I just called him like a couple hours ago, he said so!”

            “I can’t talk to you right now,” said Blaine, getting to his feet, heading to the stairs down back into the building.

            “Blaine,” said Sam, getting up and following him. “Blaine, hold on-”

            He reached out to take hold of Blaine’s arm.

            With unexpected reflexes, Blaine twisted around and yelped, “Don’t – _touch_ me!” and threw out his own arm, and the knuckles of his fist connected solidly with Sam’s jaw.

            Sam stumbled backwards slightly, clutching his face in shock.

            That sudden flash of clarity rose once more in Blaine’s eyes, but it disappeared as soon as it came, as he steeled himself.

            Slowly, Sam straightened up.

            “Okay,” he said. “I know you didn’t mean that. And we’ll talk about it later, because I know your head is going a little kooky right now-”

            “ _Don’t_ -”

            “I promise I won’t touch you,” continued Sam, speaking over him, holding up his hands. “But will you come with me to the nurse, please, at least? Maybe you’ll feel better after a nap or something. I can probably get Marley’s mom to make a glass of warm milk for you too if you want.”

            “I don’t want that,” Blaine shot back.

            “Fine,” said Sam. “Just go lay down. Please?” he asked. “For me?”

            Blaine seemed to consider this for a long moment. Then, massaging the hand that had hit Sam’s jaw, he gave a tiny, jerky nod.

            Sam headed down into the school, Blaine close behind him. Trudging into the nurse’s office, he said, “Hey Penny, Blaine isn’t really feeling well, he needs some rest.”

            “Oh,” said Penny the pretty school nurse, blinking up at them. She showed Blaine to a cot where he could rest, and asked, “Do you want me to call your parents?”

            Blaine said no. Sam sat with him for the rest of lunch period. At first there was silence between him, and then Sam said, “Meesa think-sa yousa not feeling okeeday.”

            “No,” said Blaine, shaking his head. “Please don’t do Jar Jar.”

            “Why you not like meesa impressions, Blaine-sa?”

            “That’s racist,” said Blaine.

            “Why do you always say that?” asked Sam. “You gotta explain that one to me when you feel better.”

            He continued on with impressions of Blaine’s least favorite characters, stirring Blaine to reaction every now and then, and once, something that almost resembled amusement.

            When the bell rang, Sam made Blaine promise he’d stay in the nurse’s office until school was over, then headed off to class. The rest of the day went by agonizingly slowly: as soon as the last bell rang, Sam ran back to the nurse’s office, tugging the straps of his backpack close to his back.

            In the nurse’s office, all three cots were empty. “Penny!” he said, running into the nurse. “Where did Blaine go!”

            Alarmed, she replied, “He said he had an audition to get to, I think?”

            Sam raced off to the auditorium.

            Outside the auditorium doors, he practically ran into a black woman wearing an elaborate headscarf. “Ms. Tibideaux!” he said. “Hi!”

            She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you Blaine Anderson?”

            “No,” he answered, pointing into the auditorium, “but I really, really hope he’s right through there.”

            When they entered, Blaine was nowhere to be seen. Even worse, all the band’s instrument which they had specifically organized on the stage to accompany Blaine had been removed. The stage was empty.

            “Take a seat, Ms. Tibideaux!” called Sam, running down the aisle up behind stage. “Blaine’ll be out in like two minutes!”

            Carmen Tibideaux did not look impressed, but Sam got the feeling that she rarely looked impressed anyway, so he tried not to worry about it. To his intense relief, he found Blaine sitting offstage, staring into space.

            “Blaine,” he said, dropping to his knees before him. “Phew, for a second there I was worried you’d run off.”

            “I just came here to tell the band to leave,” said Blaine resolutely. “There’s no point making them stay when I’m not even going to sing.”

            “You _are_ going to sing,” insisted Sam.

            “No!” said Blaine, glaring at Sam. He got to his feet, and Sam took a step back, his jaw still aching slightly from the punch Blaine had landed earlier. Blaine started to pace back and forth, looking manic.

            “I started singing with Cooper, you know,” he said, the words rushing out of him as if he couldn’t hold them back. “He was so good and so much older than me and he loved it so much when I sang with him, it was like we really were brothers even though he wasn’t always around, and he was always a little mad at me, but when we performed together it was like that didn’t matter. It was like he cared. He gave me his guitar when he left for LA, but I didn’t even learn to play it until freshman year, when I stayed home from school for two weeks when my parents were fighting about if they were going to sue the school, and then that whole summer I stayed in my room and memorized songs on that guitar, and then I joined the Warblers my first week at Dalton and – everybody _loved_ me there, because I could sing and dance and I had a really great show face, which I still have, by the way, and like – all my _life_ I’ve been performing for people, Sam, and that’s all it is, one big performance, because that’s what people want to see, that’s what they want me to show them and-”

            He looked up at Sam with big, frantic eyes.

            “I don’t want to be a _performer_ , Sam,” he said. “I don’t want my whole life to be a performance. It all just gives me an escape. Something I can do to avoid being _me_. What happens when I stop? You and Kurt don’t even know who I am without this.”

            “That’s not true,” protested Sam.

            “Yeah, it is,” said Blaine, nodding his head. “And I think it’s better if I just put an end to the charade right now, instead of letting it go on any longer. I can’t handle letting you down. You two deserve better.”

            “ _Blaine_ ,” said Sam emphatically, physically blocking Blaine from walking away. “Just – just hold on, okay? Give me five minutes. I’m going to go out on stage, all right? And just – watch me. Come out when I tell you to. Okay?”

            Blaine shook his head, but Sam asked again, “ _Okay_?”

            He looked at Sam for one second, then looked away. He didn’t nod, but Sam took it as a good sign that he didn’t shake his head again.

            Sam jogged out on stage. The bright lights made it hard to see the empty seats before him, but if he squinted, Madame Tibideaux wasn’t hard to spot.

            “Um,” said Sam, projecting his voice like Mr. Schue taught them in Glee Club. He waved. “Hello. So, Blaine had a whole nice song and number prepared, but he’s kind of freaking out right now, so he’s going to do what Kurt did and change things up. Which,” he added, “I guess didn’t go so well for Kurt the first time, but it all worked out, didn’t it? Anyway, Blaine is going to sing this song a cappella because that’s how he used to sing in his old show choir, and he’s also going to sing it with me.”

            Madame Tibideaux did not look impressed. “What’s your name, young man?” she asked.

            “Sam Evans,” he answered. “But I’m not auditioning.”

            “You do realize it’s very…unorthodox to audition with a duet?”

            “You let Rachel Berry re-audition with an entire show choir behind her,” Sam pointed out. “And Blaine’s got, like, an actual mental condition to deal with, I just really need to be on stage with him for this because if I’m not I’m afraid he’s gonna shout at you or jump off the stage or do something else equally random and self-destructive. Look,” continued Sam, “don’t tell Kurt I said this, but Blaine is…the most talented person I’ve ever met. But way more important than that, he’s a good guy. I wish I was as smart as him, not just in school but, like, in general. He always knows what to say and what to do and he’s taught me more than any teacher at this school. And not, like, math and science and English. Blaine taught me the important stuff. Love, and intimacy, and…showing up for someone, even, and especially, when they can’t show up for themself. So.”

            He cleared his throat. He knew he was going to butcher this song, but it was worth it, if it brought Blaine back to his senses.

            “This is one of Blaine’s favorite songs,” he said. “And it’s a real love song, super romantic, which is kind of out of character for him.”

            Before he opened his mouth, Sam glanced into the wings, to where Blaine should have been waiting. Blaine was not there.

            A jolt of panic went through Sam’s body, and he looked back out at Madame Tibideaux in fear. “Hold on, just one second-”

            Then he saw him: Blaine was heading down the aisle at the side of the auditorium, towards the exit at the back.

            “Wait!” he called, sliding off the stage and jogging after Blaine. “Blaine, hold on-”

            He got close enough to reach out and grab Blaine’s shoulder, but he didn’t.

            “Blaine, just wait,” he pleaded. “Listen to me, you’re gonna be so mad at yourself if you do this, I know you, Blaine, and this _isn’t_ you-”

            Blaine ignored him, just walked steadily towards the back of the auditorium.

            Sam stopped, watching him go.

            Halfway to the back of the auditorium, Sam opened his mouth, and, quietly, he began to sing.

            

  _Never knew I could feel like this  
__It’s like I’ve never seen the sky before_

            Blaine stopped.

_Want to vanish inside your kiss  
_ _Every day I’m loving you more and more_

            In her seat, Madame Tibideaux twisted around to watch. Blaine did not turn around, but Sam could practically see him struggling with himself, desperate to make the decision to stay.

            “I love you,” said Sam. “Until the end of time.”

            There was a long, dreadful silence.

            From the stage, a spotlight switched on suddenly, and swung into the seats to land squarely on Blaine. Sam felt a rush of relief: the Glee Club had shown up for them.

            Still, the silence dragged on so long that Sam’s heart began to sink. Nervously, he glanced back at Madame Tibideaux, who stared back at him severely.

            Finally, Sam turned around and began to head back towards the stage. “Ms. Tibideaux, I am _so_ sorry, he’s usually not-”

            And then, even without a microphone from the back of the room, the entire auditorium was suddenly filled with Blaine’s voice, rich as honey, soft as silk.

            There was another jolt in Sam’s stomach, but this was one of joy: he looked up to see Blaine looking at him once more. There might have been tears in his eyes, but they might also be show tears, because Sam didn’t think Blaine could ever sing this song without feeling the emotion behind it. Blaine’s emotions were deep and close to the surface and sometimes overwhelming: far from being a handicap, though, Sam thought that this was precisely what made him so good and beautiful and talented. It was impossible for Blaine to switch his emotions off, to sing or perform or love or talk or _be_ objectively. This was one of the things Sam loved most about Blaine.

_Come what may_  
_Come what may  
_ _Come what may!_

            Blaine’s tears were split by a smile, a grin which Sam returned, and he came rushing down the aisle back to Sam; Sam harmonized, grabbed his hands, and pulled him back up to the stage.

_I will love you_  
_I will love you!_  
_Until my dying-_  
_Dying day!  
_ _Come what may!_

            On the stage, Blaine still held Sam’s hand, but he sang out at the near-empty auditorium, lost in the notes of a song.

            Behind them, the rest of the Glee Club slowly filed out onto the stage, providing a capella harmonies as the song picked up, shifting up and out, and Blaine grinned at Sam, then took his place center stage and belted.

_My gift is my song_  
_I will love you_  
_Yes, I will love you_  
_I will love you  
_ _‘Til my dying day!_

            The song came to an end, and Blaine was left on stage, chest heaving.

            Madame Tibideaux said nothing for a long moment.

            Then, finally, she spoke. “Unconventional,” she said. “But…impressive.”

            A wide, disbelieving grin broke out on Blaine’s face. He bowed low. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m – sorry for-”

            “No excuses,” she said, holding up one hand, then getting to her feet. Heading out of the auditorium, she said, “I expect you’ll be hearing from us soon.”

            She left, and the rest of the Glee Club rushed forward, congratulating Blaine excitedly, throwing their arms around him, equal parts proud and delighted. Numbly, Blaine accepted their praise, struggling to keep a little smile on his face.

            When finally Sam got the feeling that Blaine needed some space, he and Tina coaxed them away. In the wings, he thanked them all, and Tina gave him a hug. “You’re a really good friend, Sam,” she said to him.

            “Thanks, Tina,” he said. “Although on second thought you should’ve taken Nicole Kidman’s part, I sounded only slightly better than an ugly, dying cat.”

            “That’s not true,” she said, grinning at him. “You make a very pretty dying cat, Sam.”

            He laughed with her, she squeezed him one more time, and then left.

            Once they were all gone, he headed back out onto the stage. Blaine was sitting on the edge, his hands in his lap.

            Sam lowered himself to sit beside him.

            Blaine glanced around at him. “I’m still not a hundred percent positive I’m going,” he said defensively, but Sam got the impression he didn’t really mean it; he was just keeping up the act to save face.

            Sam reached out and draped an arm around Blaine’s shoulders. Instead of pulling away, Blaine leaned into his shoulder.

            “A lot of things are changing really fast,” said Sam. “I get why you’d be scared. I just wish you’d maybe talk to me about it, instead of letting it blow up in your head so you get all messed up and quiet and a little scary.”

            Blaine didn’t say anything. Then: “I’m sorry I punched you.”

            “It’s okay.”

            “It really isn’t.”

            “But I forgive you,” said Sam. “So it is.”

            Against his shoulder, Blaine shook his head, but didn’t argue.

            “Look,” said Sam. “Blaine. Yeah, it’s true, performing is putting up an act. And music is an escape, man, but it’s not what holds us back. It’s what makes us free to be who we really are. You know that. And, come on,” he said, grinning slyly at Blaine, “admit it. The only place you really felt like _you_ today was up on that stage. Right?”

            Blaine didn’t answer, but Sam figured that was kind of an answer of its own.

            He leaned into Sam more, wrapping his arms around Sam’s body.

            “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

            “Yeah,” said Sam simply, holding him back. “You do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I always assumed the Come What May performance was Blaine's NYADA audition, but upon rewatching I realized that the timeline didn't work out. So..... I decided to run with it, and use the other (IMO superior) version.


	3. Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New York!

            New York: loud, large, fast-paced, and, frankly, kind of scary.

            Sam got lost on the subway three times the first week, so Blaine sat down and made a very clear color-coded map of the same four subway routes Sam could use to get pretty much everywhere he needed to go. He did this sitting on the floor of the loft, laptop computer set on the coffee table as Sam played on the PlayStation Blaine had brought with him. Although his parents had wanted him to dorm at NYADA, Blaine had somehow managed to convince them to let him live with Kurt and Rachel instead. As for Sam, Kurt didn’t even quite know how he’d gotten his parents to let him move out to the Big Apple, but from all the time Sam spent calling home and talking to Stevie and Stacey, he assumed everything was all right there.

            Living together was new and exciting: once Sam and Blaine were all moved in, Blaine called a mandatory apartment meeting and, while Kurt sat silently in the back, anticipating Rachel’s judgment, explained the situation delicately and carefully, “because this is your home too, Rachel, your safe space. We can’t be comfortable,” said Blaine, his favorite phrase, “unless you’re comfortable. So that’s why we’re sharing this with you.”

            “Oh my God,” said Rachel, stunned. “Kurt, how long as this been going on?”

            “A while,” he answered. “Oh come on, Rachel,” he said, leaning forward. “Like you didn’t know. Remember that time I used one of my sexile freebies for that weekend _both_ Blaine and Sam were visiting?”

            “I didn’t know what you were doing!” she replied, still in shock. “I thought it was just – guy stuff!”

            “What’s better than this!” said Sam, in a happy impression of a football coach’s Vine. “Guys being dudes!”

            “Well, to be fair,” said Blaine to Rachel, “you weren’t wrong.”

            Rachel didn’t say anything for a moment, soaking this all in.

            “So,” she began, “does this mean you guys are going to need bigger bed?”

            “Here’s the thing about that,” said Kurt, leaning in, “Sam has cold feet and doesn’t wear socks to bed-”

            “They make my toes too hot,” Sam insisted.

            “-and half the time one of us,” he placed a hand on his chest, making it very clear who he was talking about, “has an eight AM class and can’t stay up fooling around anyway, so, barring rare and hashtag-blessed occasions, it’s probably better if one of us sticks to the futon.”

            To Rachel, Blaine confided, “This is one case where being kind of small gives me the advantage – I never sleep alone.”

            “TMI, Blaine,” said Kurt, rolling his eyes.

            “She understands!” said Blaine, gesturing towards Rachel. “She’s little too!”

            “Yeah, but she’s never been the sweet man filling in a delicious Klamwich,” said Sam reasonably; with a little nod towards Rachel, he added, “I’m assuming.”

            “I can’t believe this,” said Rachel. “Santana would lose her mind if she found out about this.”

            “Yeah, speaking of,” said Blaine, glancing around. “Where is Santana? Does she still live here?”

            “I’m kind of unclear on that too,” admitted Kurt. “We’ll see when she gets back from her lesbian island, I guess.”

            Still trying to digest this new and alarming information, Rachel shook her head and straightened up. “Well, I’m not going to pretend that I really understand what’s going on here, because literally before this moment I thought Sam was straight, the two of you were exclusive, and Kurt was kind of a prude. But,” she continued, when Kurt looked offended, “apparently things have changed, and I’m officially behind the curve. But as long as it makes all of you happy,” she shrugged, “of course I’m going to support you all.” She held out her arms at all three of them. “Can I still be included in the group hugs?”

            “Of _course_ , Rachel,” said Blaine, and the three of them reached out and embraced her, and she beamed at them as Kurt rolled his eyes back at her.

\----

            “Blaine,” called Kurt, from the sofa where he sat curled up with his laptop beside Sam, who was playing video games. “Do you want to do brunch at that new place tomorrow? Or do you just want to say screw it and go back to the bottomless mimosas place that doesn’t check ID?”

            “Um,” said Blaine, emerging from the bathroom with his hair carefully gelled, “I can’t do either. I’m having lunch with my brother.”

            “Cooper’s in town?” asked Sam, perking up. “Is he shooting for the next Magic Mike? Is Channing Tatum gonna be there? Dude, I _know_ I could get another shot at the Former Male Stripper Grant if I got his recommendation-”

            Kurt seemed equally enthusiastic, looking up at Blaine hopefully. “No,” replied Blaine hesitantly. “Cooper’s just visiting for the day, I actually think he’s flying back to LA tonight. Sorry,” said Blaine, “maybe you guys can join us next time he’s in New York.”

            “Of course,” said Kurt, nodding sincerely to cover up his disappointment. “I’m sure you and your brother have a lot of catching up to do, you two haven’t seen each other in forever.”

            “Yeah,” said Blaine. “It’ll be nice. I guess.”

            Cooper had sent Blaine the address of some restaurant in the city: _Channing swears by it!_ he’d texted, then added a little yellow winky face next to it. If lunch was about to be an hour-long Cooper-fest in which he name-dropped every celebrity he’d ever even glimpsed, Blaine was not looking forward to it.

            The restaurant was a buzzing Italian café; Cooper sat waiting at a table on the patio, phone in hand. When Blaine drew up to him, he looked up, and a broad grin broke out on his face as he got to his feet.

            “Hey, little brother,” he said, reaching out to grab Blaine for a tight embrace.

            “Hi, Cooper.”

            “What’s up, man?” They took a seat again, and Cooper leaned in eagerly. “How’s school? What’s it like living in the big city?”

            “Boring, probably,” answered Blaine with a tight smile, setting his bag aside. “At least compared to LA, and your bigshot movie star life.”

            Cooper beamed appreciatively. “You seen XXL yet?”

            “Um,” said Blaine, “no, I haven’t actually.”

            Cooper’s face fell. “Bro,” he said, sounding genuinely hurt, “not cool. You never even watched the first one-”

            “I absolutely did watch the first one, after you sent me like twenty Youtube videos of trailers and clips from your interviews, and I’m really sorry if it hurts your feelings, Coop, but it actually makes me uncomfortable to see my brother half-naked and undulating on my TV screen, sorry.”

            “Hey, it’s not about the sex, squirt.”

            Blaine grimaced. “Don’t call me that.”

            “It’s about the character. And, for the record, I do want you to know, when you see XXL, I was definitely drawing some inspiration from my real-life gay idols – he’s half inspired by you, man.”

            “Your character isn’t even gay,” said Blaine.

            “He was in the original script,” said Cooper, nodding matter-of-factly. “The scene got cut, though. Which I protested, because I know how important good representation is to you guys.”

            Blaine let out a sigh as a waiter approached. When Cooper ordered, he did so in a ambiguously foreign-sounding accent. When the waiter asked where he was from, Cooper glared at them and said coldly, “Ohio.”

            The waiter hurried away, and Blaine watched them leave, then leaned in and lowered his voice. “Why do you do that?” he asked.

            “Acting,” said Cooper, dramatically sweeping his hair back.

            “It’s a little bit racist.”

            “You think everything I do is a little bit racist,” countered Cooper. “And yet somehow I’ve managed to get this far in Hollywood, haven’t I?”

            Blaine was speechless for a moment, already planning his explanation in his head, and Cooper took advantage of this by adding, “Also, you could do with some practice too now that you’re getting serious about your career. Start small. Didn’t you take Italian in high school?”

            “For one year,” said Blaine. “At Dalton. And this is an Italian restaurant, they’re gonna know I’m faking it.”

            “You’d be surprised,” said Cooper wisely, grinning at Blaine. “Come on, Blainey.”

            The waiter came back with their drinks, and Cooper raised his eyebrows pointedly at Blaine, who shook his head. Cooper kicked him under the table, and Blaine finally sighed and said, “ _Mi scusi_?”

            The waiter blinked at him. “ _Sí?_ ”

            “ _Mi scuso per il mio fratello_ ,” said Blaine. “ _È un idiota_.”

            The waiter smiled. “ _Va bene_. Are you ready to order?” they asked, as Cooper beamed proudly at his brother.

            “Hey,” said Cooper, leaning across the table to pat Blaine on the cheek affectionately. “What’d I tell you? Good practice, isn’t it?”

            “I guess,” answered Blaine.

            “Keep that up, and maybe one day you’ll star in a box-office smash alongside some of Hollywood’s hottest leading men and women.”

            “There were like, no named women in the first movie.”

            “Ah, but you haven’t seen XXL yet,” said Cooper. “I’m really going to insist you go see it, Blaine. Just support me in this one thing, like I’ve always supported you-”

            “When have you _ever_ supported me?”

            Cooper ignored this. “You’ll like it,” he assured Blaine. “Let me guess, you’re a Joe Manganiello kind of guy, aren’t you? Yeah, you’ll love it.”

            “Hey,” said Blaine. “Coop. I know you didn’t come all the way out here just to get me to watch your new movie.”

            Cooper’s smile stalled slightly, but didn’t quite disappear. He took a sip of his Cosmopolitan.

            “Did Dad call you?” asked Blaine, fiddling with the edge of his napkin.

            “No,” answered Cooper.

            “Did my mom?”

            “Nobody had to call me and tell me to come talk to you, Blaine,” said Cooper; it was too optimistic to expect him to be completely serious, but he did manage to land somewhere solidly closer to sincere than mocking. “You’re my brother. I’ve been through this before with Dad.”

            “You were eleven,” said Blaine. “I’m eighteen. I don’t even live with them anymore. Plus it’s not like it’s all that shocking anyhow, I’m just surprised they managed to last this long, honestly.”

            There was an awkward sort of pause. Blaine and Cooper rarely talked about their parents, preferring not to address the fact that Cooper’s mother could barely stand to speak to her ex-husband, or the fact that Cooper only really been present in Blaine’s childhood during every other weekend, and whenever he came with them on an extended vacation to the lake in summertime.

            “Hey,” said Cooper, reaching out to knock Blaine gently on the shoulder. “I heard you staged a big old musical number to propose to your boyfriend. Why wasn’t I invited for a duet?”

            “I did invite you,” said Blaine self-consciously. “You were filming.”

            “Oh,” said Cooper. “Well, that’s the business for you. Nonstop. I’ll be at the wedding for sure.” Hopefully, he added, “Is there still an opening for Best Man?”

            “No,” answered Blaine truthfully. “I already asked our friend Sam. He likes your movies, by the way,” he continued, knowing that Sam would want Blaine to mention it. “He actually used to be a stripper for, like, two weeks.”

            This piqued Cooper’s interest. “Really?” he asked curiously. “Is he around? Could I talk to him? I need to gather more real-life experience, you know, so I can give an authentic performance-”

            All things considered, lunch went well. When Blaine and Cooper parted – Cooper hailed a cab, and Blaine assured him he’d be fine taking the subway – Cooper squeezed his brother tight and said, “Call me if you need to talk. But hey, remember the time difference, okay? Nothing before nine AM my time. I need my rest, or else I get crabby, and Channing has no patience for amateurs.” He got into the cab, then seemed to remember something, rolling down the window. “And hey,” he called, “get me tickets to your opening night, all right?”

            “What opening night?” asked Blaine. “I don’t even have any roles yet.”

            “Yeah, but,” said Cooper, grinning, “you will. Stay gold, little brother.”

            Blaine waved goodbye at Cooper as the taxi drove away.

            He stopped by a Best Buy on the way home to pick up the Blu Ray DVD of _Magic Mike XXL_. When he finally got back to the apartment, Sam was still playing videogames, but Kurt was in the kitchen working on a soufflé.

            “How was lunch with your brother?” asked Kurt, as Blaine took a seat at the table.

            “Fine,” answered Blaine.

            “Did he say anything about Channing Tatum?” asked Sam, his voice raised to be heard over his game.

            “Nothing exciting,” Blaine replied. “He did mention that his Magic Mike character is supposed to be gay, though.”

            “Naturally,” said Kurt, nodding thoughtfully as he stood before the stove, oven mitts in hand. “That characterization makes so much sense in the sequel.”

            Blaine’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve seen it?”

            Guiltily, Kurt said, “Oh, come on Blaine, it’s a bunch of highly attractive men taking off their clothes, why _wouldn’t_ I watch it?”

            Blaine wanted to fight this, but given what he had in his bag at the moment, it would feel hypocritical of him. Unhappily, he reached into his bag and took out the DVD.

            “Mind watching it again?” he asked.

            The ecstatic look in Kurt’s eyes told Blaine all he needed to now. Sam excitedly turned off his videogames as Blaine popped it into their DVD player. “I never saw this one!” said Sam. “Man, I hope it’s as good as the first one!”

            “It’s better,” said Kurt confidently.

            The movie was actually much better than Blaine had expected, and he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed all the handsome, mostly naked men. When Cooper’s character sang Heaven, Kurt said, “That’s it, we _have_ to have him sing that at the wedding.” Later, when he came out at the stripper convention, Blaine uttered, “Oh, my God,” and had to cover his eyes, asking, “Is it over?” every few minutes as Kurt and Sam quite literally whooped and hollered in glee.

            After the movie ended, Kurt sat there fanning himself, Sam with a dopey grin on his face. “That’s awesome,” he said. “I mean, my stripping experience wasn’t really that exciting, but that’s _awesome_ , I wish it’d been.”

            “What did Cooper say to convince you to finally watch it?” asked Kurt, nudging Blaine. “I couldn’t even get you to watch the trailers.”

            Blaine shrugged. “We’ve been trying to make more of an effort to stay close,” he said. “I guess this is me just trying to hold up my end of the deal.”

            “Hey, Blaine,” said Sam, his feet kicked up on the coffee table. “Can I ask you something?”

            “Sure.”

            “How come Cooper is, like…white?”

            “Oh my God, Sam,” said Kurt, immediately looking around. “You can’t just ask people why they’re white.”

            The fact that this was an intentional _Mean Girls_ reference was betrayed by Kurt’s little smirk, but Blaine also thought it was partly genuine, an indication of the fact that Kurt, like Sam, like most people in a predominately white city like Lima, Ohio (how the Glee Club managed to be so diverse, Blaine didn’t know) – weren’t very comfortable talking about race. Not exactly in a prejudicial way, either: they just had had very, very little practice.

            “I just mean,” added Sam hurriedly, “I’ve met your mom, Blaine, and her delicious Filipino food is like my second-favorite thing about going to your house, after your videogame and comic book collection.”

            “Well,” said Blaine. “Cooper’s actually my half-brother. His mom lives in Fort Wayne. The one in Ohio,” he added. “That’s probably one of the reasons why we’re not that close – he didn’t live with us full-time. But that’s okay. We’re trying to make up for lost time now, and we’ve gotten pretty good at keeping up with bi-weekly Facebook messages, although usually his are just lists of shows he auditioned for that week.”

            “That’s great,” said Kurt sincerely. “I’m glad you two are reconnecting.”

            “Yeah,” said Blaine.

            He didn’t say anything else, but Kurt and Sam got the distinct impression he wasn’t finished.

            He tapped his fingers on the sidearm of the couch, as if distracted. “My parents are getting a divorce,” he said.

            “What?” asked Sam in disbelief, as Kurt said, “Oh, Blaine. I’m sorry.”

            “It’s okay,” he said, with a shrug. “I kind of knew it was coming. And they did wait until I was out of the house, which is nice of them. Anyway, that’s why Cooper was here. He was younger than me when Dad divorced his mom, but he was still thinking of me. Wanted to make sure I was okay. Pretty thoughtful of him, huh?”

            “Yes,” said Kurt, nodding. He reached out to give Blaine a hug. “I’m sorry, Blaine,” he said again.

            “You really don’t have to apologize,” said Blaine, feeling a little embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal.”

            “It sucks either way, man,” said Sam, reaching out to pat Blaine’s shoulder. “If you don’t want to do those awful split-Christmases like in the movies, you can always come to my place for the holidays.”

            “Or mine,” said Kurt pointedly, a little miffed he hadn’t offered first. “Or we could just celebrate here together, no parents allowed.”

            “Can’t do that,” said Sam seriously. “I’m sorry, but I _have_ to go home to see Stevie and Stacey.”

            There was a pause, and then Kurt said, “I know what’ll cheer you up.” Slipping off the couch, he rifled through their DVD collection, then turned around and beamed at them, the Extended Edition of _Lord of the Rings_ in hand.

            Blaine sighed, and Sam looked unimpressed. “Kurt, we love you,” said Sam, “but it’s just really sad that _Lord of the Rings_ is always the nerdiest thing you can think of.”

\----

            Blaine fell back onto the bed, sweaty and panting for breath.

            “Oh my God,” he breathed, running a hand through his curly hair. He glanced over at Sam. “Where do you get that kind of stamina, man?”

            Sam, propped up on one elbow beside Blaine, grinned and shrugged. “I played football in high school.”

            “And synchronized swimming.”

            “Yeah, and if I’m honest it’s probably all up to the swimming. That breath control stuff is really intense.”

            “And good for your lungs,” sighed Blaine, tapping feebly on his chest. “For singing.”

            “Um, sure.”

            “You know it’s kind of hot,” said Blaine, his eyes fluttering closed, long eyelashes catching the light streaming in through a high window.

            “What is?”

            “Dating the football player.” His eyelids lifted just a sliver, and he glanced at Sam. “Every gay teen’s dream.”

            “If Kurt were here,” said Sam, “he’d point out that you already were dating the football player.”

            “Like I don’t know that. Every time I sat down to watch a game with Burt, he always had to remind me Kurt was a kicker. For one game. But you,” he turned over to lie on his side, his face inches away from Sam’s. “You were the quarterback for a hot second.”

            Sam’s eyes flickered down to Blaine’s lips. “A very _hot_ second?”

            “Mhm. That’s right.”

            They kissed. By now one another’s mouths were familiar territory. The thrill had begun to wane, but it was replaced with an ease and a peace that felt deceptively natural: Blaine and Sam, Blaine and Kurt, Kurt and Sam, Sam and Blaine and Kurt – it all made so much sense. They forgot, sometimes, how strange it might look to someone who didn’t understand. Blaine had lived with this most of his life, knew how it felt to be afraid to hold hands in public with the person you loved. This was new for Sam, and he wasn’t as used to hiding it, nor was he sympathetic to the need to do so. Whenever Kurt and Blaine tried to explain it to him, he ended up getting a little bit outraged for the three of them, insisting that there was nothing weird about this at all.

            And yet – the room he shared with Blaine still had two beds, and these intimate moments between them only ever happened when Mercedes was out of the apartment. It was clear enough to see that Sam still had feelings for Mercedes, but he hadn’t talked much to Blaine and Kurt about her, no matter how many unsubtle hints they dropped. Eventually the two of them made a decision not to pressure him; as much as they wanted the best for Sam, he could get kind of insecure about his place in their relationship, and the last thing they wanted was to make him feel like they were pushing him out.

            Blaine kissed Sam again, reaching down to take hold of one of Sam’s hands. “And,” he murmured against Sam’s mouth, “I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to realize how absurdly long your fingers are.”

            “Oh, yeah,” said Sam, a wide, goofy grin on his big mouth. “Kurt calls them my spider fingers.”

            “Well, I think it’s sexy.”

            “So does he, I’m pretty sure.”

            Blaine kissed along Sam’s jaw. “He’s got some really weirdly specific kinks, doesn’t he? Who knew?”

            There was a momentary pause. Blaine settled back down into the bed beside Sam: Mercedes would be back in an hour or so, but in the meantime, post-coitus snuggles were in order.

            “Blaine,” said Sam.

            “Hm?”

            “Can I talk to you about something?”

            The answer to this was so rote by now that Blaine was almost taken aback that Sam even asked. “Of course,” he said, snuggling up to Sam’s body. “You can talk to me about anything.”

            Naturally, Sam’s arm slung around Blaine’s shoulders, scooping him in towards his bare chest. “There isn’t really a good way to bring this up so I’m just going to spit it out,” Sam began. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Kurt. I know how he can get sometimes. So…I just…I’ve been thinking lately…”

            Sam’s head was laid back on the pillow, and he was staring up at the ceiling. Resting his cheek on Sam’s chest, Blaine slowly opened his eyes again, the smile sliding off his face as a slimy knot of dread sunk into his stomach.

            He had been wondering about this for a while now. Despite how well things were going – well, no, maybe it was precisely because of how well things were going lately, but he had begun to find himself waiting for the other shoe to drop. Blaine could not be this lucky, could not possibly have worked something like this out, for real: and his relationship with Sam and with Kurt were both so individually different, it was inevitable, really, that one of them was going to bring up the idea of returning back to some kind of a monogamous relationship.

            When he had allowed himself to think about this – he had somehow of a narcissistic personality, like, in the medically diagnosable way, so it had never really occurred to him that Sam and Kurt might be the ones splitting away – but on those rare occasions when he’d entertained the possibility, he’d always kind of put his money on Kurt. Kurt wasn’t possessive, not really: but he was sensitive, and his ego much more fragile than he ever let on. Blaine could easily see how Sam (how _Sam-and-Blaine_ ) might seem like a threat to him.

            Sam, on the other hand, had for some reason seemed less fundamentally dangerous.

            The anxious knot in Blaine’s belly tightened. Whatever Sam said, he knew what his decision would be.

            “I really want to get with Mercedes,” said Sam.

            Blaine, still lying against Sam’s warm body, blinked.

            The dread in his stomach instantly evaporated, and he looked up. “Oh,” he said. “Is that all?”

            “Is that _all_?” echoed Sam. “Um, dude, it’s only like, the most beautiful love that’s ever existed in the universe!”

            “I thought we were the most beautiful love that’s ever existed in the universe.”

            “You guys get the planet,” said Sam reasonably. “Mercedes and me get the universe.”

            “Fair,” ceded Blaine. “Why didn’t you want to bring this up around Kurt?”

            Sam didn’t quite look uncomfortable, but he did take a few thoughtful moments before he answered. “Didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Plus sometimes he can get kinda mean when I talk about the fact that I still like girls. I mean I get it, I know why he might feel weird about that but…I thought maybe I should just talk to you about it first. So you can help me break the news and stuff.”

            Blaine watched Sam for a moment. Then he pulled away gently, sitting up in bed, sheets covering his lap. “He’ll understand,” he said, doing his best to sound as sympathetic as he could, ignoring the feelings in his chest he didn’t want to feel, the ones banging painfully against his lungs, gut clenching at the very idea of losing Sam. “I understand too,” he forced himself to say. “I mean, it’s not fair of Kurt and I to expect you to sit around forever, and I know you’re concerned about the future so, well. Maybe it is time to move on.”

            Sam looked at him, confused and alarmed. “What?” he asked. “No, Blaine, I want to stay with you and Kurt.”

            This took a moment to sink in. “Oh,” he said again.

            “That’s why I’m worried,” continued Sam, as Blaine sat on the bed, slowly trying to unclench the fear that had knotted itself in his stomach. “I mean, I love you, and I love Kurt, but I really loved Mercedes too. And I think I still do, but even if I don’t I love spending time with her and I want to, you know,” he looked at Sam earnestly, “I wanna date her.” When he caught the look on Blaine’s face, which might have betrayed a hint of the distress he was still trying to work out, Sam added, “I mean, you and Kurt have said before that it’s okay with you guys if I see other people…but I still want to be with you guys too. If you’re okay with that.”

            Finally, Blaine found his voice again. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, Sam, of course we’re okay with that. Kurt and I aren’t going anywhere.”

            “Good,” said Sam, with a relieved grin.

            “But,” said Blaine, meeting Sam’s gaze seriously, “you know you have to tell Mercedes about us.”

            Sam’s grin faded. “I was worried you’d say that,” he said ruefully.

            “It’d be lying if you didn’t,” Blaine pointed out. “And what do I always say? This only works because of-”

            “Communication, yeah, I know.”

            There was a pause. Sam looked dejected; unable to bear Sam’s misery, Blaine offered, “I could help you break it to her if you want. Kurt, too.”

            “Nah,” sighed Sam. “I should do it on my own.”

            “She’s great. She’s the best. This is kind of new for everyone, but I’m sure once she’s had some time to adjust, she’ll understand.”

            “I don’t know. She’s not like you guys.”

            “She’s very open-minded,” Blaine assured him. “Kurt was her best friend for a while, remember?”

            “Just because she’s okay with gay people doesn’t mean she’s going to be totally okay with polyamorous homo-triangles. That’s a slippery slope, Blaine.”

            “Okay,” said Blaine. “First of all, how many times do I have to ask you not to use the word ‘homo’-?”

            “Kurt says it!”

            “Kurt _can_ say it, he’s reclaiming a slur – that’s not the point, although I’m sure Mercedes would agree that this is a concept you’ve really got to wrap your head around. In any case,” he continued, “I honestly think you should give her the benefit of the doubt, Sam.”

            Sam looked at Blaine for a few seconds, thinking about this. He seemed worried, and a little bit scared, which was not an expression Blaine was used to seeing on Sam’s bright-eyed face.

            “She’s really Christian,” said Sam.

            “So are you.”

            “But Kurt’s right. God isn’t exactly down with gay threesomes, Blaine.”

            “You can’t speak for God, you have no idea what He is or isn’t down with,” said Blaine matter-of-factly. “Or She, for that matter. Besides, we went to that modern lifestyles Bible study, and remember that cute angel Bible verse they told us?”

            “Hebrews 13:2,” muttered Sam. “But that’s just about being nice to new people, it doesn’t say anything about alternative relationship structures.”

            “It’s about not judging people,” said Blaine, reaching out to take Sam’s hands. “And accepting them whoever they are. Sam, you have so much love inside of you just dying to get out. Some people have a hard time understanding how you can genuinely, really love more than one person at a time, but – I don’t. I get it, because I know you, and I know how much you have to give.” He paused, looking Sam in the eye. “Mercedes knows you too,” he said. “Call me crazy, but I have a gut feeling that she’s going to accept you for exactly who you are, polyamorous gay-and-pansexual threesome and all.”

            Sam opened his mouth as if to ask a question, but before he could, Blaine added, “ _And_ , if she loves you so much that she doesn’t necessarily feel comfortable sharing you, or has some other convictions so strong that she can’t compromise, then that’s okay too. It’s okay whatever decision you make, wherever the pieces may fall. Kurt and I still love you, whether or not you share the company of our bed or the intimacy of our hearts. Do you understand me?”

            The genuine fear behind Sam’s eyes had faded somewhat. He reached out and wrapped his arms around Blaine, sinking into each other. “Yeah,” he muttered into Blaine’s ear. “Hey. Thanks.”

\----

            From the front door, a loud set of three crisp knocks sounded throughout the apartment. Somewhat reluctantly, Mercedes went to the door, glanced through the peephole, then swung it open.

            Kurt Hummel stood in the doorway, eyes on her. “Good morning,” he said, and without another word he swept inside. Behind him, Mercedes closed the door.

            As Kurt headed into the living room, Mercedes said, “Did Sam send you?”

            “No,” he answered, shedding his scarf and taking a seat primly on the sofa. “Sam is of the opinion that he’s his own best advocate, and while I admire his self-confidence, I also think that sometimes he doesn’t even realize how…” he paused, searching for the word, “… _inarticulate_ , he can be.”

            “This is between me and him, Kurt,” said Mercedes.

            “No it’s not,” said Kurt shortly. “It’s between you and him, and me and Blaine.”

            She watched him; she didn’t understand this yet, obviously. “I’m not part of this,” she said. “I’m not about to sign up for being the fourth-wheel hag-”

            “You aren’t,” said Kurt, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t be. Mercedes…”

            He stopped and took a small sigh of sorts, then reached out towards her. After a moment’s hesitation, she relented, and reached out to take his hand, sitting beside him. He slung an arm around her shoulders and she leaned in towards him, warm and close and comfortable, in a familiar echo of their high school friendship.

            “I can accept that this is probably a lot to take in at once,” he said carefully. “But…I don’t think that’s entirely our fault. We weren’t really hiding it, Mercedes, I mean, for God’s sake, Sam and Blaine were living under your roof. You had to have noticed something.” When she did not respond to this, Kurt added, “I guess people will come up with all kinds of excuses, when they can’t believe the truth.”

            “I’m not mad,” said Mercedes, pulling away slightly. “I’m not prejudiced or anything, Kurt, you and Blaine and Sam – you do you, and do it proud. I’ve always told you that.”

            He nodded sincerely, affirming this: _Yes, you have_.

            “But,” she continued, “I’m just not sure I want to put my heart on the line here. Sam is great, and I know he has feelings for me, but this all just seems a little too complicated for me to jump in now.”

            “It’s not,” said Kurt quickly. “It’s really not. I care about Sam, and so does Blaine. The three of us care about each other so much more than typical friendship is equipped to express, so…we’re more than that. But his feelings for _us_ don’t diminish his feelings for _you_. Trust me on this one,” he sighed, “he hasn’t shut up about you lately.”

            Mercedes raised an eyebrow at Kurt. “So he likes me, and he wants to go out with me…but you aren’t going to break up with him for that?”

            “I know it sounds weird,” he said sympathetically. “Believe me, things didn’t start off with the three of us where they are now. But once those kinds of feelings – mutual feelings – took root, they just kind of…grew.”

            He shrugged helplessly at her, as if to indicate how powerless he had been against the forces of love.

            “You know I love you too, Mercedes,” said Kurt, taking her hand. “You were my friend back when I didn’t have anyone else. You were the very first person to know I was gay-”

            “Well,” said Mercedes pointedly, “honestly, Kurt, we all kind of knew.”

            “Okay, well, you were the first person I trusted enough to tell,” he amended. “The first person I felt safe enough to be well and truly honest with. You helped me become myself, Mercedes, and I will always love and cherish you for that.”

            “I love you too, Kurt,” she said, squeezing his hand. “But I just don’t know if I love Sam enough to risk this.”

            Kurt shook his head, interrupting her. “Blaine always says that the best thing about love is that it’s not a non-renewable resource. You can’t use it all up. It’s bottomless, and neverending, and the best thing you can do with it is spread it around.”          

            “Don’t you think it loses some of its meaning then?” asked Mercedes doubtfully. “If you love everyone seriously like that, then how can it be special?”

            “Are you kidding me?” asked Kurt, sounding almost offended. “What about this whole situation _doesn’t_ feel special to you? Sam loves us, Mercedes. And he’s…one of the most amazing guys I’ve ever known. I can’t tell you to give him a chance, but…” he smiled at her “…give him a chance. You’ll be missing out if you don’t.”

            As if on second thought, he added, “And I can’t speak for Sam, but Blaine and I are more than willing to take a step back if that’s what you and Sam both want. No more sleepovers, no sexting, no good-morning kisses if you’re not comfortable with that.”

            Mercedes didn’t say anything for a moment. For someone usually so easily overcome by emotion, she seemed oddly calm.

            But when she spoke, the hesitance in her voice gave away her weakness. “Is Sam with Blaine right now?” she asked.

            “Yes,” answered Kurt. “Chaperoned by Rachel and Artie, don’t worry.”

            It looked like she wanted to say more, so Kurt said nothing, waiting patiently for her. Big brown eyes downcast, he watched her for a long moment. Her lip trembled slightly, and he held her hand tightly.

            “What?” he asked gently. “What is it?”

            Blinking against the wetness in her eyes, she glanced up at him. “I just…” she began, voice weak. “I’m afraid…what if he wakes up one day, and realizes he loves you more?”

            Kurt felt a pang of empathy squeeze at his heart.

            “He won’t,” he promised her. “That’s not how his heart works, Mercedes.”

            “How do you know?”

            “Because,” Kurt said soothingly, “I was terrified of the same thing when the three of us got serious. Like I said, it didn’t start out the way it did now. Blaine had feelings for him and – you know he’s cheated on me once before, I was so scared that one day, Blaine was going to give up on me, and that would be that. But it’s _more_ than that,” he said earnestly. “ _Sam_ is more than that. He’s in for a penny, in for a pound. And he’s the most honest person I’ve ever met. He’ll never lie to you about his feelings. I’m not even quite sure he’d know how to.”

            He chuckled, and Mercedes laughed with him; when tears spilled down her cheeks, Kurt smoothly wiped them away, then wordlessly produced a box of tissues for her to dab at her eyes.

            “Thanks, Kurt,” she said to him. “I know that you and Blaine care about him. And that makes me really happy. He really loves you guys.”

            “We care about you too,” he told her. “Your feelings matter. So, while you figure out where you want to go with this – if you want to go at all – Blaine and I are going to take it easy. Haven’t you noticed he’s been sleeping at my place lately? If you want this, then we’re all about helping you set your boundaries. Like it or not, you’re a part of the fearsome threesome now.”

            Mercedes was still silent, for a long moment.

            Then she looked up at Kurt.

            She asked, “Could we make it…an awesome foursome?”

            A grin lit up Kurt’s face, and he beamed at her.

            “Done,” he said. “Personally I had my heart set on _pawsome_ foursome so we could do a cute cat-and-dog theme – you and I would be cats, of course, Blaine and Sam the dogs – but whichever works with me. Oh,” he said, pulling something out of his bookbag, “that reminds me. Blaine tends to do this, don’t take it too seriously, but he made a binder for you – it’s got some educational resources in it, because that’s his thing, and some contact information and team-building exercises and stuff,” he opened the thick binder and flipped through it, “somewhere in here there’s a checklist about Do-or-Don’ts, but I kind of feel like that’s something we should do as a group – how about over dinner tonight?”

            Overwhelmed, Mercedes gaped down at the binder, then at Kurt.

            He smiled at her sympathetically. “We could do lunch tomorrow. I’ll call Sam,” he said, getting up. “I’m sure you two could use some alone time to talk this over.”

            Pulling out his phone, he dialed Sam’s number. Then he leaned down, and kissed Mercedes on the forehead.

            “You’re the best,” he told her, as if confiding to her a secret. “I mean, I always knew that, of course. But now I’m glad everyone else is starting to figure that out, too.”

            He put the phone to his ear as Sam picked up the other line, and Mercedes smiled down at the checklist in front of her, on which Blaine had carefully placed several bright stickers featuring cute cartoon puppies.          

\----

            Kurt returned to the apartment after his last class to find Sam posing dramatically before the front door, wearing nothing more than a pair of tight little undies. Raising an eyebrow, he strode into the place, eyes immediately drawn to the curve of Sam’s ass – vaguely, he wondered if Sam was wearing one of those bubble booty contour disasters, then, with a satisfied little smirk he decided, _Nope_ , that’s one hundred percent grade-A Sam-I-am backside. You could bounce a penny off that thing.

            That was when Kurt’s reverie was rudely interrupted. “Kurt,” said Blaine, who was standing on the couch with a camera in his hands, “get out of frame!”

            With a sigh, Kurt did so, setting his book bag on the table. “What are you doing?” he asked, as Blaine snapped photos from above, nodding enthusiastically as Sam turned into the pose again and again.

            “Updating Sam’s portfolio,” answered Blaine, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

            “Yeah,” said Sam, pausing in his posing to glance around at Kurt. “I figured why waste money on a fancy photographer when we can just borrow Artie’s camera and use all your guys’s lamps?” He gestured at the many lightbulbs shining brightly on him. Blaine had obviously arranged them: they lit up Sam’s angles precisely the right way. Sam glanced around at them and added, as if impressed, “You guys have a _lot_ of lamps.”

            “Doesn’t Artie need his camera?” asked Kurt, watching them with his arms crossed.

            “Not today,” said Blaine innocently, holding the bulky camera. “He’s editing today.”

            “Didn’t we decide you were going to stop using his camera after you accidentally uploaded Sam’s nudes to the Cloud?”

            Blaine pointed at a button on the back of the camera. “I turned off Cloud-sharing,” he said. “Plus, those were tasteful and artistic nudes, Kurt, not some common pornography. We’re better than that.”

            “Oh, really?” replied Kurt bitingly. “I have a folder of Snapchat screenshots on my phone that says otherwise…”

            A slight blush rose in Blaine’s cheeks. “That’s different-”

            “Yeah,” said Sam, backing Blaine up. “My pictures were all about artistic expression through the soft-focus black-and-white, stripped down, vulnerable male body. It’s not like anyone was using them to get off or anything.”

            Behind Sam, Blaine glanced away guiltily, his blush deepening.

            “Sam, you might as well spend the money,” said Kurt, shaking his head. “You know these pictures are just going to end up neatly stashed away in a binder if Blaine gets his way. Neatly laminated, so they don’t get…” he threw a knowing look at Blaine, “dirty.”

            “That’s not fair,” said Blaine, but he jumped down off the couch. “I’m actually a great photographer, Kurt.”

            “I’m not contesting that,” said Kurt, holding up his hands to indicate surrender. “I mean, RateMyDickPic dot com gave you a ten-out-of-ten, I’m sure you’re very good at composing the frame and everything. But, please.” He gestured around them. “This is my living space. It’s completely amateur.”

            “Yeah, but,” said Sam reasonably, “Blaine said that would mesh well with my boy-next-door vibe.” Blaine nodded excitedly.

            Unimpressed, Kurt reached out and wiped his thumb across Sam’s cheek, then glanced at his hand. “And why was the glitter necessary?” he asked.

            “It’s hot,” said Blaine.

            “Okay, Ziggy,” sighed Kurt, patting Sam on the arm. “Go take a shower.”

            Sam glanced at Blaine, who shrugged, carefully replacing the cap over the camera lens. As Sam retreated to the bathroom – he called, “Hey, which one’s your body wash?” and Kurt called back, “The pink one” – Blaine sat down at the table, looking through the photos he’d taken. Kurt, meanwhile, opened a cabinet, rifling through it to look for something.

            “Why are you guys over here, anyway?” he asked; he wasn’t exactly annoyed, because Blaine was at Kurt’s apartment just about as much as he was at his own, and Sam only a little less so. He was, however, unused to coming home to the sight of both of them, especially with no warning ahead of time.

            “Well,” said Blaine mildly, still looking at photos, “I met Sam for lunch, and then we got kind of…excited,” _horny_ , corrected Kurt, in his head, “so we thought we’d come back here to burn off some steam.”

            After a little time getting used to the idea, Mercedes had decided that she was all right with Sam going back to his regular intimate relationship with Blaine and Kurt, in addition to dating her. “It’s probably for the best, to be honest,” she’d told Blaine and Kurt. “This way he can work off any sexual frustration with two people _I_ love and trust, too.”

            Kurt had raised an eyebrow. “You two _still_ aren’t having sex?”

            “I respect that,” Blaine had assured her.

            The only rule she had set down was that she didn’t want anything going on in her apartment, especially when she was there. So it made sense that Sam and Blaine would come to Kurt’s apartment to do the do, especially if they didn’t know when Mercedes was getting home. What made less sense, however, was how the two of them had ended up staging an impromptu photoshoot instead.

            Kurt paused, then turned around to look at Blaine. “Why did you have Artie’s camera, then?” he asked suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you two were planning on making a sex tape.”

            Blaine suddenly became intensely interested in the small photo preview on the back of the camera.

            Kurt, knowing it was up to him to be the responsible partner, closed his eyes for one moment to try and beat back the surge of arousal that had blossomed in his stomach.

            “Blaine,” he said, doing his best to sound as disappointed as he could. “Why would you think that’s even a remotely good idea?”

            “It _is_ a good idea,” insisted Blaine, looking up from the camera like a kicked puppy. “I mean, we thought it’d be kind of a sweet throwback to when you used to watch us on Skype, and – your birthday’s coming up soon, so we just wanted to do something to make you feel special-”

            This time, the wave of arousal stirring in Kurt’s stomach was heightened by a rush of affection for his boyfriends. “I appreciate the thought,” he admitted. “But it is most definitely not a good idea, Blaine. What if you become famous someday? What’s the Academy going to think when they find out their Oscar nominee has a gay sex tape?”

            About to retort, Blaine took pause, then asked defensively, “What, and you think a straight sex tape would be better?”

            Kurt actually considered this for a moment. “Well, since at that point you would be an influential and openly gay actor,” he said thoughtfully, “a straight sex tape would make you the talk of the town, wouldn’t it?”

            It looked like Blaine was about to retort to this, but then he hesitated, looking confused. “Is this your weird, roundabout way of telling me you want to see me hook up with a girl?”

            “ _No_ ,” said Kurt emphatically, shaking his head to rid himself of the thought before he followed it down the rabbit hole. “Look, that’s not important. Just – don’t do the sex tape. You and Sam can Skype with me from your apartment sometime if you really want.”

            Although Blaine still looked a little put out, this seemed to cheer him up a little bit. In the bathroom, Sam, a consummate jock when it came to quick showers, turned off the water. He was in the middle of a heartfelt rendition of When You Say Nothing At All. “ _The smile on your face lets me know that you need me…_ ”

            “Anyway,” said Kurt, turning back to the cabinet. He took something out, and held it in his hand. “I’m glad you’re here, because I found something the other day that I need to talk to you about.”

            Blaine looked up at Kurt, the smile on his face looking decidedly plastic. From the bathroom, Sam sang, “ _The touch of your hand says you’ll catch me if ever I fall_ …”

            Kurt moved forward, reached out, and placed something small on the kitchen table. Blaine stared at it, but he could not keep the smile from slipping off his face.

            Gesturing at the little orange pill bottle, Kurt asked, “How long has that been here?”

            “Kurt,” said Blaine, without looking up.

            “Just tell me, Blaine,” said Kurt; but he did not sound angry. Nor did he sound too concerned, for that matter – there was a patina of disappointment on the edges of his words, maybe, but nothing more severe. When Blaine didn’t say anything, Kurt prompted, “Since the last time you slept over? Or before that?”

            “Not long,” said Blaine, but he didn’t elaborate. “I just forgot it was there, that’s all-”

            “- _When you say nothing at all!_ ” sang Sam with gusto, bursting out of the bathroom. Entering the frigid silence between Blaine and Kurt, Sam immediately sensed the tension and his gleeful expression dropped, glancing in between the two of them anxiously.

            Kurt didn’t say anything. He turned his face towards Sam, but avoided meeting his or Blaine’s gaze. “Go get dressed, Sam,” he said.

            “Are you guys okay?” he asked cautiously.

            “I’m fine,” said Blaine, to Kurt. “I forgot about leaving them here because I don’t take them every day anymore.”

            “Really,” said Kurt dispassionately. He picked the pill bottle up again and held it up, reading the label. “Because – this says to take one every morning with breakfast. And unless your prescription has changed in the past,” he glanced at the date on the label, “eight weeks, then you should be taking these, _every_ day, with breakfast.”

            “But I’m _fine_ , Kurt,” insisted Blaine, getting to his feet. “It’s been – to be honest, it’s been a few weeks now, and I feel great. I’ve been doing great, haven’t I, Sam?”

            Sam, holding a towel around his waist, looked carefully between Blaine and Kurt. “What’s happening?” he asked.

            “Blaine isn’t taking his medication,” answered Kurt, before Blaine could say anything. “His medication which a _doctor_ specifically _prescribed_ to him for his _condition_ -”

            “It’s a disorder, Kurt,” said Blaine, “not a condition.”

            “Which is why you need to treat it!”

            “I’m _fine_ ,” he repeated again, reaching out to take Kurt’s arms, as if begging him. “I’m okay, Kurt!”

            “You can’t just stop taking your meds because you feel _okay_!”

            “Actually,” said Sam, confused, “isn’t that when you’re supposed to stop taking medicine?”

            “It doesn’t work like that!”

            “How would you know?” demanded Blaine. Despite the frustration winding up like the taut compression of a spring between them, neither of them had yet crossed a line into anger, but Blaine was suddenly veering dangerously close. “You think you can just Google BPD and suddenly you know everything about what it’s like to be me? A few years ago you wouldn’t have wanted me taking these at all-”

            “That’s because I didn’t _know_ better,” stressed Kurt, and everything suddenly shifted: now it seemed that Kurt was the one pleading with Blaine. “I’m sorry, am I the only one who remembers the total fiasco that was the last time you stopped taking your meds?”

            “That was good for us,” protested Blaine. “That was about boundaries, and space, and me needing to get to know the city like you did-”

            “Oh, please, Blaine. It may have been a little bit that but there’s no point pretending it didn’t also have a hell of a lot to do with the fact that Sam can handle it when you go a little crazy, and I _can’t_.”

            “You _can_ ,” insisted Blaine.

            “Right, because I handled your Elliot freak out so well?”

            “I told you,” said Blaine, a dark look flickering across his face. Still standing between them, towel around his waist, short hair dark in its dampness, Sam looked in between the two of them as if following a tennis volley back and forth. “I apologized to him about that and he forgave me, I don’t know why you’re so concerned with Elliot’s feelings-”

            “I wasn’t concerned about Elliot!” said Kurt shrilly. “I was concerned for _you_!”

            This stopped the retort forming on Blaine’s lips; guardedly, he narrowed his eyes at Kurt.

            “You were gone,” he continued, “for _six hours_ that day. Missing. You could’ve been anywhere. Doing anything. I tried calling you and you didn’t answer – for all I knew you could’ve jumped off a bridge.”

            Angry fire sparked behind Blaine’s eyes, and he asked, “Have _either_ of you ever even _read_ my emergency binder-?”

            Suddenly, Sam spoke up.

            “He has a point,” he said, fairly.

            Kurt and Blaine’s heads both jerked around to look at him, each immediately assuming he was on the other’s side. But, sympathetic as he sounded, he was facing Blaine determinedly. “What?” asked Blaine disbelievingly. “How about some support right now, please, Sam?”

            “I just mean,” continued Sam hurriedly, obviously eager not to start a fight, “that just because you’re fine right now, you know, here in an environment where me and Kurt are going to support you no matter what, that doesn’t really mean you’re gonna be fine,” he gestured vaguely at the door, “out there.”

            Again, Blaine opened his mouth to protest, but Sam didn’t stop.

            “Remember that time you almost threw down with Hunter at the Lima Bean? And that was when he was still ‘roid raging,” said Sam; Kurt’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced in between Sam and Blaine with an expression equal parts horror and curiosity. “Dude,” said Sam honestly, but with a little laugh to soften the blow, “you’re like half his size, the guy would’ve torn you apart. Like, sometimes you end up getting so caught up in your own head that you make really bad decisions, like when you poured your coffee in Sebastian’s lap.”

            “I’m sure he deserved it,” added Kurt, “but Sam’s right, Blaine. Admit it: you have, if not self-destructive, then at the very, _very_ least, self-sabotaging tendencies. If medication can help you from doing something you’ll seriously regret later, then I am one hundred percent for you taking it.”

            He held up the little prescription bottle again, shaking it slightly.

            “I just need you to do this,” said Kurt desperately. “For me, if not for yourself.”

            There was a long pause, during which Sam was not sure whether Blaine was going to take the bottle or slap it out of Kurt’s hands.

            And then, just as quickly as it had surfaced, the anger eked out of Blaine, and he reached out, took the bottle, then went to the sink and poured himself a glass of water. He unscrewed the top and took out a pill, which he placed on his tongue and swallowed with a sip. Replacing the lid, he turned around to look at Kurt, holding his arms out as if to say, _Happy now?_

            Sam got dressed, but when he premiered his newest impression – “ _Why you always lyin’, why the heck you lying…_ ” – it was met with only lukewarm appreciation from the two other boys. Blaine went to lie down in Kurt’s bed and, after a second’s hesitation, Sam sat down beside Kurt, who was assembling a fashion collage for his scrapbook look book.

            “Hey,” he said to Kurt.

            Kurt only spared the slightest withering glance his way.

            “You know I think it’s really cool how much you two have always looked out for each other,” said Sam. “The fact that you’re willing to fight about it really just shows how much you care.”

            “You’re one to talk,” answered Kurt. Although he would not look up to meet Sam’s eye, his voice was quiet, not angry. “You almost broke your nose fighting Karofsky for me.”

            “Yeah, but I didn’t love Karofsky, not like you love Blaine. I wasn’t really risking anything.”

            Finally, Kurt put his magazine cutouts down, looking up at Sam with sad, big eyes. “Except for your good looks,” he said.

            Sam grinned. “Except for my sexy awesome looks.”

            Kurt watched him for a moment, then sniffed the air. “Why do you smell like Rachel?” he asked.

            Sam blinked, then sniffed his own armpit. “Dude, I used your shampoo, the pink one-”

            “The pink _body wash_ is mine,” sighed Kurt. “The pink shampoo is Rachel.”

            “What?” asked Sam, offended. “What happened to color-coding things so I don’t get confused?”

            “You don’t live here anymore,” Kurt reminded him. “Rachel and I are free to buy whichever bathing products we may desire.”

            Begrudgingly, Sam let this slide. There was another long pause.

            And then, grinning slightly, Sam leaned in across the table. “Hey,” he said again. “Want to hear something funny?”

            Kurt didn’t answer, but Sam took that as a yes.

            “Remember the red-yellow-green thing we used to do?” he continued. Kurt nodded. “Watch this.” He raised his voice and called, “Green, green, green!”

            In Kurt’s bed, Blaine made a strangled little sound, then poked his head out from behind the curtains. “Not the time right now, Sam,” he said, one hand kept subtly as possible over his lap.

            He disappeared behind the curtains again, and Sam grinned at Kurt, whose eyebrows were raised. “Pops a chubber every time he hears me say it now,” Sam said, a little proudly.

            Kurt stared at him for a second, then tore his gaze away, unable to hold back a little giggle. “Wow,” he said appreciatively. “Pavlov’s boner.”

            From Kurt’s bed, hidden behind the curtain, Blaine called grumpily, “It’s _not_ funny.”

\----

            “I can’t believe,” said Blaine numbly, “I got a _B_ on my mid-winter critique.”

            “Don’t complain,” said Kurt mildly, patting him on the back. “A genuine B is better than a pity A.”

            “No, it literally is not!” Insulted, he placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “I was grief-stricken, Kurt, and Madame Tibideaux has the – the _audacity_ to give me a B?”

            “Grief?” echoed Kurt doubtfully. “I was in the hospital, not dead.”

            “You could’ve been,” Blaine pointed out.

            “Which is a fact I’d rather not dwell on, if you don’t mind?”

            “I’m just saying,” sighed Blaine. “I deserve that 4.0 GPA.”

            Kurt, who definitely did not have a 4.0, tried not to be surprised that Blaine nearly did. Blaine was good at everything, lest he forget. “Maybe she mixed up our grades,” he offered. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I killed it at that performance, but Sam showed me the video he took of yours, and you were _amazing_.”

            “Yeah, how did he even get that video, anyway? Madame Tibideaux doesn’t allow recordings.”

            “Well, it’s not actually any video of _you_ ,” explained Kurt. “It’s mostly just the tablecloth because he was holding it under the table, but I heard you just fine, and you were beautiful. Meanwhile, the only reason I got the better grade was because I was sporting a black eye during my performance.”

            “No,” Blaine reassured him immediately. “You were incredible, Kurt-”

            “Sure, but since when has regular old incredible been enough for Carmen Tibideaux?”

            Regretfully, they both sat there basking in their misery.

            “I shouldn’t have gone a cappella,” sighed Blaine. “I need to get out of my comfort zone more often.”

            “I was way too on the nose,” sniffed Kurt. “You think I’d’ve gotten such a good grade if I did something really butch? No way. It wasn’t about my talent, it was about the message.”

            “Your talent _is_ the message,” said Blaine, glancing around at his boyfriend. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Especially not after what you did. You’re brave,” he said, punctuating this with a kiss on Kurt’s jaw, “and talented,” another kiss on his cheek, at the corner of his lips, “and _so_ sexy…”

            He kissed Kurt on the mouth. Kurt kissed back, reaching up to take Blaine’s face gently with his hand, sinking into the kiss-

            Then he winced away, dabbing at his upper lip with one finger, then inspecting it as if expecting to see blood. “Sorry,” he said to Blaine, apologetically. Tapping his split lip, which hadn’t healed completely, he added, “Still kind of stings.”

            Blaine took Kurt’s chin in his hands, inspecting his mouth. “It’s not bleeding. Although,” he added, “we really have got to get you home so you can see a dentist about that chipped tooth. See, this is why tongue piercings are a bad idea.”

            “You like it,” said Kurt, grinning at Blaine, even though his lip stung a little as he did so. “Admit it. It’s hot.”

            “It’s not hot, it knocks against my teeth when we kiss,” Blaine said mildly. “It might be hot if used in _other_ ways, but-”

            “But I have a very delicate throat,” said Kurt, speaking loudly over Blaine, pressing two fingers gently against his Adam’s apple, “which is to be reserved primarily for singing.” With a pointed smirk, he added, “Sam likes the piercing.”

            “Sam says it makes him feel like he’s making out with a robot,” said Blaine. “And for some reason, Sam is turned on by the thought of making out with a robot.”

            Sam was out on a date with Mercedes. Their relationship was beginning to enter its very first problem stages, through which Kurt and Blaine kept their fingers crossed and breath held, hoping that if they could make it through the first few rough patches, then they could stick together for good.

            Despite a general sense that rooting for your boyfriend’s relationship with a woman seemed weird, unsure how enthusiastic about it they should be, it still somehow managed to feel right. When Sam was happy, they were happy. In the weeks it had been since Sam and Mercedes got together, Blaine, for one, had slowly managed to shake the anxiety of losing Sam – not that Sam had given any indication that he had any plans to close the door on that relationship soon. But Kurt had talked to Blaine, and made a lot of sense.

            “We’re going to get married,” he’d said, holding Blaine in bed after he’d confessed his fears. “And Sam isn’t. That’s something we all knew going into this, Blaine. So yes, there is something between the two of us that isn’t there for him. He knows that too, no use ignoring it. And if he finds _that_ thing, that thing he doesn’t have with us, with someone else? Then we’ve got to let it happen. We love them both. We owe it to them to support them.”

            Blaine’s voice had been weak and teary. “Even if it means losing him?”

            “If you ask me,” sighed Kurt, “I don’t think it does mean that. Sam loves us, Blaine. He and I always say we don’t understand why it’s so tough for you to get that through that concrete-gelled head of yours, especially because when we started out, _you_ were the one who was so gung-ho about it. You know we’re not going anywhere, Blaine. How many times do we have to say it until you believe us?”

            Blaine looked up at Kurt. Tenderly, he reached up to hold his face. “I do believe you,” he said earnestly. “I just get…worried.”

            Kurt knew as much. It had only been a little while since Kurt found out that Blaine hadn’t been taking his medication, and he’d been staying over at Kurt’s apartment lately, pointedly taking his pills at the breakfast table. _Worried_ was an understatement.

            But things had been going well for a while. When Kurt finally got out of the hospital, Sam had confided in him that he’d been keeping an extra eye on Blaine, nervous that this incident might stir something up in his head, make him angry or irritable or dangerous – to someone else, or himself. On the contrary, since Kurt got hurt Blaine had been more reserved than ever, staying by Kurt’s side, sleeping over, holding his hand tightly in the street.

            “I think he’s hoping someone tries something again,” Kurt told Sam quietly one Monday night, as they were setting the table, Blaine and the others still talking and laughing at the couch. “He’s pretending he’s okay, but I’m afraid it’s all going to come flooding out any day now.”

            “Or he’s just looking out for you,” Sam pointed out. “I mean, why do you think I walk you guys home from class now?”

            “But it’s almost like he _wants_ to get in a fight-”

            “Well,” said Sam reasonably. “So did I. When I saw you laying there in the hospital bed, I wanted to find whoever did that to you and kick the crap out of them. Hurt them so they couldn’t ever hurt anyone else ever again. For you.”

            He paused. Kurt watched him, emotion swelling up in his chest at the fierce protection in Sam’s eyes.

            “But Blaine didn’t,” he added simply. “Blaine slept there with you until your dad got there. He wouldn’t leave your side. I don’t think he was angry, Kurt, I think he was really, really scared.”

            “Of course,” said Kurt. “But when he gets scared, sometimes he-”

            Shaking his head, Sam said, “Not that kind of scared. He told me about why he transferred to Dalton. When he got beat up, they didn’t know if he was going to wake up at all, Kurt. Yeah, this is about what happened to you, but I bet in his head, it’s…about him too. About back then.”

            Kurt didn’t say anything. There was a lump in his throat, tightening his chest, blocking his breath.

            He had known that Blaine had transferred to Dalton in his freshman year, after an incident at a Sadie Hawkins dance. Blaine didn’t like to talk about it, and Kurt had taken this at face value, never pressing too hard for details. He had never asked how badly he’d been hurt.

            He glanced over at Blaine and the others, laughing together at a story Artie was telling. He imagined Blaine, fifteen years old, the bruises on his face much worse than Kurt’s.

            Sam held something out to him, gently tapping his arm. Kurt looked around and Sam smiled at him, offering him a tissue.

            Kurt took the tissue. Sam busied himself straightening the cutlery on the table, surreptitiously hiding Kurt from view of the others as he wiped at his eyes. “Thanks,” he muttered.

            Sam squeezed his shoulders, then planted a kiss on his forehead. “Yeah,” he said. Then he raised his voice to the others and he called, “Hey! Dinnertime!”

\----

            Spring hit New York in a flurry of color and motion, chipping away at the winter cold and replacing it with sunlight peeking out behind clouds, and warm breezes off the Hudson. It seemed that they had all but adapted to the breadth and pace of NYC life, where to slow down was to be overtaken, and to stop was to admit defeat.

            Blaine had been spending much of his time with Broadway diva June Dolloway, preparing for his showcase in a few days; Kurt was still working his butt off at NYADA (and staging musicals at the local senior citizens home in his free time); Sam still juggled his relationship with Mercedes with his relationship with Blaine and Kurt with his modeling career, which had taken off in the past few weeks – he’d booked a shoot with Treasure Trails for the upcoming week. He’d moved from Blaine’s bedroom to Mercedes’s, though Mercedes had loosened up a little on her boundaries lately, and every now and then when Mercedes was out late at the studio, she’d come home to her own bedroom empty, Blaine and Sam sleeping peacefully side-by-side when she peeked into the other room.

            Once or twice she’d unlocked the front door to find two boys halfway to the finish line on the living room couch, sighed loudly at them, then ignored them and gone straight to the kitchen to make herself dinner. The first time Sam had appeared in the kitchen ruefully a few minutes later, as if about to apologize, but she shut him down before he could. “I said I was down with this,” she told him, shaking her head, “but that couch is a public space, Sam, I don’t want to sit down to watch a movie at the end of a long day knowing you and Blaine did who-knows-what all over it!”

            Sam had assured her that it wouldn’t happen again, and they were pretty much done anyway, and he’d made a big bowl of popcorn and the three of them had watched the newest Avengers movie together. Blaine kept up a highly critical running commentary the entire time.

            The pressure of the upcoming showcase, no doubt heightened by the fact that a visit to his doctor back home had in fact ended up lowering the dosage of his medication, had put Blaine on edge lately: he was tense and jumpy, just as liable to snap at his friends as he was to burst into inexplicable tears. More and more often he stayed the night with Kurt. He left some of his things in Kurt and Rachel’s bathroom, then Kurt cleared out a drawer to keep some of Blaine’s clothes so they could go straight to class in the mornings.

            Delivering lunch to Blaine one day at school, Kurt had walked into Blaine playing a beautiful acoustic piano rendition of All of Me to himself, which had abruptly turned into Blaine confessing that all his promises that Kurt too would be in June’s showcase had been optimistic lies, and that June did not care for Kurt, and wanted him nowhere near Blaine’s spotlight.

            Naturally, this had devolved into Blaine sobbing into Kurt’s arms as Kurt sat down on the piano bench and patted him on the back awkwardly. Again and again Blaine kept asking if Kurt was mad at him, insisting that he get angry, “I _lied_ to you Kurt, I’m a _liar_ , I’m _terrible_ -”

            Kurt got him all the way home and into bed, his hand placed firmly on Blaine’s arm, a calming reminder that he was there, and that he would be present for whatever Blaine was feeling, and that he wasn’t about to leave him, no matter what Blaine was going through.

            It wasn’t exactly how Sam would’ve done it, probably – Sam would’ve distracted Blaine rather than indulged him, made him think about something else, redirected those feelings elsewhere to head him off before he got bad – but Kurt felt oddly proud of himself. Way back in high school, when they first met, Blaine had felt to Kurt like his guardian angel, his savior and protector. Although Kurt could admit that some of that had probably been projection, his mind and heart desperate to latch on to a happy, functional, positive gay role model, some of it had been real. He still remembered the burst of warmth in his chest when he glanced down at his phone in junior year to see a single word sent from his new friend at Dalton. _Courage_.

            Courageous he had been, back then and certainly now, when he held Blaine, trailing his fingers back and forth across the back of Blaine’s neck, doing his best to make him feel safe and loved and protected. He still needed Blaine just as much as he had needed him back then, if not more, but he had finally learned how to give as much as he took. Blaine’s mood swings and impulsive behavior had never been easy to deal with, especially with Kurt’s stubbornness and short temper. But sometime in the past few months, that had all shifted. He loved Blaine. It was his responsibility to step up and learn how to take care of him, even when he was not easy to take care of. So with Sam and the Internet and Blaine’s many resource binders as his guides, Kurt had finally taken it upon himself to do so.

            When Blaine finally fell asleep, Kurt quietly slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen table, opening his laptop to study. A little later Rachel appeared, beaming at him when she came in, but just as she opened her mouth he shook his head vigorously, pointing towards his bed, where Blaine’s well-gelled head was visible underneath the covers. Taking the hint, Rachel had tiptoed in, closing the door gently behind her and joining Kurt at the table, talking only in whispers.

            In the evening, Kurt cooked some food and brought it over to Blaine, gently shaking him awake. “You should eat,” he said, as Blaine glanced up at him groggily. “You’ve been out all day.” Lifting up the tray in his hands, he grinned weakly and said, “Dinner in bed. To make up for all those breakfasts you made me.”

            Blaine ate; he kissed Kurt once; then he lay down again, and closed his eyes. Kurt didn’t think he was asleep, but let him lay there in his own silence anyway.

            Crowded at home by the writer for Rachel’s yet-untitled television show, the afternoon before the showcase Blaine sent a message to their group Facebook chat, asking everyone to meet him at NYADA.

            Kurt showed up first, as soon as his class ended. Then came Sam and Mercedes, Santana and Brittany, and Rachel and Artie, although Rachel was wearing sunglasses and glancing around nervously, as if afraid of someone that someone would recognize her and insist she leave the premises. Even Tina made it, slipping in at the last minute, barely making it from her classes at Brown.

            They found Blaine in the same room he’d been in the day he dissolved into tears in Kurt’s arm. He had set up seats for all of them around the piano, and he looked uncharacteristically nervous. Kurt squeezed his hand encouragingly, then sat down with the others.

            “Hi,” said Blaine, holding up a hand to greet them all. “I know tomorrow you’re all going to be coming to my showcase, and I hope it’s a good show, but I’ve been thinking about it and no matter what June says – no matter how good this could be for me, or for my _career_ ,” he said it with verbal air quotes, with such irreverence that surprised them all, “or something – we’ve been rehearsing and I just feel like, I feel like it lacks heart. Like it isn’t _me_ – not who I really am. So before you all come see me there, in the grand Broadway tradition I wanted to give you a preview. But not of the songs I’m going to sing there. I wanted to use this opportunity to thank all of you for how much support and love and guidance you’ve given me, and share something to show you all how much you mean to me. So…”

            Nervously, he sat down the piano bench, looked at the keys, then back at them.

            “I wrote this song,” he said, “about…five years ago now. Before Glee Club. Before McKinley – before Dalton and the Warblers, even. I came out that year at my school, on my own, without anyone to catch me if I fell. When you’re alone like that…sometimes you get stuck in your own head, imagining how it should be, how much better it _could_ be if you had someone else. And sometimes you can get so caught up in that fantasy that you can’t recognize the real thing when it shows up. At least, not at first.”

            He smiled sheepishly at Kurt.

            “So anyway,” he continued, taking a deep breath. “I try to be an optimist, even if I don’t always manage it every single day. Back then, I knew there was nobody there for me. So I decided to be there for myself, and I wrote this song to remind myself that no matter what, I wasn’t ever going to be alone, because I had _me_.”

            Rachel smiled sympathetically, taking Kurt’s hand, touched by Blaine’s words.

            “But,” he added, “turns out, that’s not always enough. You do need other people. I needed other people. And then I met all of you,” he said, “and…to be honest, I don’t know how I ever survived without you guys to begin with.

            “Santana, Brittany,” he continued, turning to them. “You two don’t know what you mean to me. Everyone’s journey to who they are is different, but watching yours unfold has helped me respect that, and have confidence in my own. Mercedes,” he said, “every time I think I know what you’re about to do, you totally blow right past my expectations. I’ve never met anyone with as much love and nonjudgmental acceptance as you have. Thank you. I’m proud to be part of your life.” With a wry smile, he met Rachel’s gaze. “Rachel – you’re my role model, plain and simple. You and I have a lot in common, but there’s one big difference between us – you always knew you’d be here. I never thought I would. I admire that about you, and from now on I’m going to try and believe in myself as much as you do.”

            He got up from the piano bench, moving forward to reach out and take Tina’s hands. “Tina,” he sighed, emotion roiling just beneath his voice. “You were my best friend. You were there for me even when I didn’t appreciate you, and I love you, and you will always be precious to me.”

            Past her, he took Sam’s hand in one of his own, and Kurt’s hand in his other.

            “Sam,” he said, “Kurt. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you guys. In fact, I wouldn’t even be here right now if it wasn’t for the two of you. I don’t have words to tell you how much you mean to me.”

            He kissed Sam’s hand, then Kurt’s.

            “So, as usual,” he said, “I’m going to sing it instead.”

            He let go of their hands and went back to the piano bench, but then Kurt cleared his throat, jerking his head pointedly in Artie’s direction.

            “Oh, yeah,” said Blaine. “Artie, you’ve taught me how to push forward even when, like, most of world isn’t wheelchair-accessible, and you’ve also taught me to always wear protection because literally anyone can get an STI, I mean, seriously. Also, thanks for naming me the new Rachel way back when, I mean, it was obvious, but thanks.”

            Offended, Artie opened his mouth to protest, but Blaine just called, “So this one’s for all of you!” and began to play the piano.

            

 

_I’ve been alone_

_Surrounded by darkness_

_I’ve seen how heartless_

_The world can be…_

            Rachel and Sam, being the resident criers, couldn’t hold back tears. While Kurt allowed Rachel to hang onto him, Mercedes held her boyfriend, kissing him on the cheek tenderly. Even the usually dismissive Santana couldn’t help but be moved at the rawness of Blaine’s song. She held hands with Brittany, grinning at her.

 

_Baby, I’m not alone_

_‘Cause you’re here with me_

_And nothing’s ever gonna take us down_

_‘Cause nothing can keep me from loving you_

 

            The song softened as Blaine brought it to its end, swaying gently to his music.

 

_Our love is all we need_

_To make it through_ …

 

            When he was finished, they all applauded, getting to their feet for a standing ovation as he got up, beamed at them, and bowed low. Kurt threw his arms around his boyfriend, kissing him; Sam did the same, then Mercedes joined, and then it was a group hug with all of them, before Santana peeled away and said, “Okay, okay, I know I’m a lesbian and all but that was the _gayest_ thing I have _ever_ been a part of-”

            They all stayed for a while, but slowly they all trickled out, leaving only Kurt and Blaine alone in the room. On the piano, Blaine plinked out a familiar tune, and Kurt laughed and pulled down the key cover, stopping him before he went any further.

            “I appreciate the throwback,” he said, before Blaine could protest, “but the last time you played Teenage Dream acoustic for me, you ended up confessing you cheated on me, so let’s not test our luck.”

            Earnestly, Blaine began, “I haven’t-”

            “I know you haven’t cheated on me, or anything,” said Kurt, nodding. Sitting beside Blaine on the piano bench, he looked down at the covered keys, then up at his boyfriend. “But I get the feeling there’s still something you want to say to me. And I don’t think you can do it through song, this time.”

            Blaine met his gaze for a moment. “It’d have to be a pretty specific song,” he admitted.

            “Thought so,” said Kurt smartly. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

            There was silence. Blaine’s fingers caressed the key cover, playing a song in his mind, thinking hard.

            Then, carefully, he said, “This showcase thing with June, Kurt, it…it isn’t making me happy.”

            “Okay,” said Kurt, nodding. “So you’ve learned that you’re never going to lie to me again, right? Not even to spare my feelings?”

            “It’s not just that,” said Blaine, shaking his head. “The way June talks about it, the way I’m never allowed to turn it off…we’re always talking about _performing_ , about putting on a _show_ , and I just…I don’t know if I want that to be my life, Kurt.”

            Kurt didn’t say anything. He got a feeling he knew where this was going.

            “Do you remember,” continued Blaine, without looking at his boyfriend, “before my NYADA audition, when I was thinking – I don’t know, maybe my future doesn’t lie in the theater. Maybe I’m meant for more than that.”

            “Performing is what you love,” said Kurt, but he said it cautiously, testing the waters. “It’s enough, Blaine. You don’t have to be insecure about it.”

            “I’m not insecure,” said Blaine. “I just think that maybe…I don’t want to do it anymore.”

            There was a beat of silence.

            “I’ve been thinking about this ever since we did Hall of Fame at Regionals,” continued Blaine quickly, as if defending himself. “There are so many people like me in theater, and I don’t just mean, like, because I’m gay, I mean people who are _talented_ , people who’ve been performing their whole lives. I could be a doctor, Kurt, or, or a lawyer. I could go into politics. I could be anything. I don’t want to hold myself back. Maybe I’m just not meant for the stage.”

            Kurt wanted to support his boyfriend, but he couldn’t stop himself from muttering, “That’s preposterous.” At Blaine’s look, he added hurriedly, “I’m sorry, Blaine, it’s just – I know sometimes you get the idea that putting on a performance is somehow inauthentic, but how could you possibly think that after what you just sang for us? You’ve never been realer than this moment. And, sure,” he continued, before Blaine could open his mouth to protest, “maybe sometimes you do choose songs with lyrics that don’t exactly apply to the situation at hand, but that doesn’t mean the emotion behind them isn’t real. And, all right,” he admitted reluctantly, “we make fun of you for it sometimes, but Somewhere Only We Know actually _did_ make a lot of sense, in context.”

            Blaine laughed a little, but it was a sad, quiet laugh. Kurt watched him, then reached out and slipped his arm around Blaine’s waist, leaning onto his shoulder.

            “You get anxious about these things sometimes, Blaine,” said Kurt. “Don’t let that ruin your dream.”

            “It’s not my dream,” said Blaine.

            Kurt didn’t say anything, just held onto Blaine.

            Blaine shook his head. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “All my life I’ve craved the stage. I used to feel like I needed everyone to look at me, or else I wasn’t there at all. But I don’t feel like that anymore. I don’t need everybody’s attention. Not if I have yours.”

            Kurt kissed Blaine’s cheek. He could tell where this was going.

            Blaine opened his mouth, hesitated, then began, “Rachel…dropped out, and I’ve been thinking…”

            When he didn’t continue, Kurt let out a sigh. “You’re not dropping out,” he said.

            Blaine’s eyes flashed, nervous and hurt, but Kurt continued.

            “If this is happening,” he said matter-of-factly, “then you’re _transferring_. Not dropping out. NYU has a great pre-med program, if that’s what you want. You can apply in the fall. I’ll help you.”

            For a second, Blaine gazed at Kurt, dumbstruck and speechless.

            Then he burst forward and threw his arms around Kurt tightly. When he pulled away, he held Kurt’s shoulders and asked, “You really believe me? You don’t think this is just another self-sabotaging, impulsive decision? Because I trust you, Kurt, and if you really don’t think this is the right thing-”

            “Look, Blaine,” said Kurt, taking Blaine’s hands off of him and collecting them in his own. “This isn’t coming out of nowhere. You almost didn’t audition for NYADA in the first place, remember? I want you to chase what you want, and you know what, I’ll deal with the fact that you don’t want the stage like I do. In fact, maybe it’s kind of a relief. I won’t have to compete with you for solos anymore.”

            He grinned, and Blaine smiled weakly, but there was still a question behind his eyes, an uncertainty he couldn’t shake.

            Wryly, Kurt added, “And it isn’t fair of me to try and invalidate all of your decisions based on one flaw in your personality, either. You’re more than your BPD. I’ll support you no matter what.”

            One more time, they hugged each other, holding tight. Blaine kissed him, and then leaned into his shoulder.

            Then Kurt asked, “You’re still doing the showcase, though, right? I’ve already bragged to everybody in my classes about it, and I’m going to be super embarrassed if I have to take it all back.”

            “I’ll do it,” laughed Blaine. “And you’re doing it with me. No matter what June says.”

            “If you insist,” teased Kurt, grinning at him. “I can’t wait to sing with you, Blaine. It’ll be beautiful, I’m sure.”

            They did. And it was.

\----

            “…so anyway, me and Mercedes are taking a break,” said Sam, lying across the couch in Kurt’s apartment. Later that night they were all having their weekly Monday night potluck, and Rachel had announced that the final version of her script was finished, and they were planning to do a read-through after dinner. She wouldn’t be back home until later, however, so it was Kurt and Blaine and Sam alone. “I mean, for right now it’s like, indefinite, but I really believe that one day we’re gonna be together. I really fit with her, you know? Like peanut butter and Nutella, or the two of you.”

            “The three of us,” corrected Blaine.

            Sam didn’t say anything right away. He sat up on the couch.

            “Yeah,” said Sam. “I actually kind of wanted to talk to you guys about that too.”

            Kurt’s grip tightened on Blaine’s hand suddenly, unexpectantly.

            Sam paused, looking at them, then began, “I’ve been here in New York for almost a year now, and I just…I don’t like it, you guys. I don’t fit in here. At first it was worth it just to be with you guys, and for my modeling career too, but…being with Mercedes made me really, _really_ happy. And now that I’m not with her anymore, I kind of feel like I’m not gonna be happy here anymore.”

            Kurt opened his mouth, but Sam cut him off, hurriedly adding, “Don’t get me wrong, I still love you guys a lot, but…this life that you guys have? College, New York, gay marriage? It’s _your_ life. Not mine. Especially not after the whole Treasure Trails thing,” he added. “I mean, it’s super awesome that my abs are going to be on buses everywhere now, but I don’t want to go back to a photoshoot where I don’t feel safe. Thanks for calling your dad about that, by the way, Blaine.”

            Blaine’s father was a lawyer, and, outraged at how Sam had been treated at his shoot – outraged even further that Sam didn’t even have the vocabulary to call it what it was, which was assault – he had called his father back in Lima to ask for legal advice, but after a quick review of Sam’s contract, Mr. Anderson had ceded that since Sam was over eighteen, nothing illegal had really gone on.

            “So what are you going to do?” asked Kurt. “Go back to Lima?”

            He shrugged. “My parents could probably use an extra pair of hands around the house. Plus then I’d get to see Stevie and Stacey every day. I really miss them.”

            Blaine reached out to take Sam’s hand, injured by this news. Injured, but not devastated: lately they had been drifting apart slightly, becoming Kurt-and-Blaine and Sam-and-Mercedes. It was a blow they had been anticipating, almost. “Whatever you do,” he said, “we still love you. And you always have a place with us. Come and visit, when you can?”

            “Yeah,” said Sam, grinning at them. “I will. I promise.”

            He leaned forward for a kiss, which Blaine returned.

            That evening, halfway through dinner they all sprinted downstairs to catch a bus on the side of the road: and on the side of the bus there was Sam’s bare torso, shiny and rippling and beautiful. He broke it to the rest of them then, the news that he was headed home. Kurt and Blaine saw the way Mercedes leaned in to him, and couldn’t help but be convinced of Sam’s certainty that one day, they would make it back to each other.

            “Okay then,” said Rachel, holding both Kurt and Blaine, “you know what? Let’s make a deal. Six months from now, we all come back right here, to this place. Because I’m going to need something to look forward to. If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that you guys are my life.”

            And then they brought it in one last time for a group hug; and just like that, it was over.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously revised some canon I don't like. Intending on continuing this for season 6 but idk when I'll get around to finishing writing that, haha.


	4. Season Six (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic does acknowledge blaine/karofsky as canon and this chapter deals with that. It's a squicky relationship for some ppl so go ahead and avoid if you really dislike it.

            “Thanks for doing this, Coop,” said Blaine, perched delicately on the bed as his older brother set down another plastic tub full of belongings. “I know you’re busy in LA, so I really appreciate you coming out to help me.”

            Cooper shot a grin at his brother, straightening up. “I’m a movie star now, squirt,” Blaine winced at the moniker, but didn’t protest. “I make my own schedule.”

            “I thought you were shooting that new show for USA. The procedural cop show?”

            Waving his hand, obviously happy that Blaine had brought it up, Cooper replied, “It’s a crime drama, Blaine. And we don’t start shooting for another month anyway, so I’ve got some time off. Besides,” he continued, shrugging around at the room, “I _totally_ get needing someone to pick up your stuff from your ex’s place.”

            He didn’t add, “And it’s not like Dad would show up,” but that was the implicit understanding between them.

            “So,” continued Cooper, opening a closet, looking through the new apartment. “You met your roommates yet?”

            “Oh,” said Blaine. “I don’t have any roommates.”

            Cooper glanced around at Blaine, an eyebrow raised. “Damn, you must be raking it in. Where are you working?”

            “I’m not,” said Blaine.

            “Dad and Abbey are paying your rent?” Abbey was Blaine’s mother. Blaine nodded. “How much is your allowance, bro?”

            Blaine told him.

            Cooper stared at him.

            Then he let out a low whistle and shook his head, doing his best not to judge. “You better get a move on with that whole doctor career, kiddo-”

            “I think I’m probably going to push that until next year,” said Blaine seriously, hugging a pillow in his lap. “I think I just, you know, I need a while for myself. Just to get to know the city and figure out where I want to go from here.”

            “Okay,” said Cooper. “Getting any auditions or anything from your fancy theater school, then? You get paid for Broadway shows, right?”

            “Oh,” said Blaine again. “Yeah. I dropped out of NYADA.”

            Cooper didn’t say anything.

            “Well,” added Blaine timidly, “actually…they kicked me out.”

            “ _What_?”

            “Don’t judge me,” said Blaine defensively. “Dad and your mom paid for you when you went out to LA after high school-”

            “Yeah, I got an allowance,” said Cooper. “But I also got a job waiting tables, Blaine. I was pursuing my dream, but I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for it to happen. What do you _mean_ they kicked you out?”

            “I got depressed!”

            “Blaine,” said Cooper, in disbelief. “You’ve been depressed since you were, like, fourteen, and that’s never stopped you before!”

            When Blaine didn’t say anything more, his mouth a tight, upset line, Cooper took a deep sigh and went to the bed, sitting down next to the younger boy.

            “Look, little brother,” he said, reaching a hand out to place supportively on Blaine’s back. “Breakups can be tough. Especially for someone like you.”

            Blaine looked up, offended, and began to protest, but Cooper clarified, “I mean for high school sweethearts. High school sweethearts who were engaged. But, for the record, I always thought that was a terrible idea. You can’t tie yourself down too soon. You want to get to know yourself? You have to branch out. Take chances.”

            Blaine protested, “That’s what I’m trying to _do_ -”

            “No,” said Cooper, not unkindly. “It’s not. You’ve been thinking New York is the right place for you for years now. It’s become so familiar at this point that being here isn’t pushing you anymore – all it’s going to do is remind you of Kurt.”

            Blaine looked miserable, but he also didn’t disagree.

            After a moment’s pause, Cooper added, “Plus Abbey and Dad are still in that competitive post-divorce phase where they’re both trying to buy your affection. But as soon as that ends, they’re not going about to keep on hemorrhaging money to pay for you to sit around here and do nothing. So.”

            Cooper had never seen his brother look so lost. Blaine stared down at the sheets on the bed desperately, as if he’d find the solution to all his problems somewhere in the thread count.

            “So what?” asked Blaine. He looked up at Cooper, who wasn’t surprised to see there were tears in his eyes. Blaine had always been a little overdramatic. “What do I do now?”

            “I can’t tell you that,” said Cooper, with a shrug. “But I don’t think New York is the right place for you right now, man.”

            Blaine wiped at his eyes, and gave a pitiful sniff. Tentatively, he asked, “Can I come to LA with you?”

            Cooper’s instinct was to laugh and say, “God no,” but he resisted the temptation to do so, knowing that Blaine was in a very delicate state. “Actually,” he began, “now that you mention it…I’m not going straight back to LA. Making a stop back home first.”

            There was a frown on Blaine’s face as he asked, “Why?”

            “A girl,” said Cooper, “duh.” With a sly, proud grin, Cooper told him, “Recently reconnected with Miss Carver High Junior Prom Queen 2003, Carlie Steward. Figure if I head back now, there’s a good chance _Coolie_ finally has a shot.”

            “Yeah,” said Blaine, “you guys should probably go with _Carler_ or something-”

            “Anyway,” continued Cooper, “I’m heading home. And if you ask me, you should too.”

            “How is that remotely branching out?”

            “You gotta get back on your feet before you can move forward, bro. Maybe that means taking a few steps back.” He shrugged. “It’s not good for you to be on your own. You can reapply wherever you want later, but for right now, it’s probably best for everyone if you take a breather at home.”

            There was a short silence. Blaine sniffed again, and wiped at his nose.

            “My therapist did say I need to be surrounded by a strong support network,” he admitted.

            “There he is,” said Cooper emphatically, clapping Blaine on the back and grinning at him. “Come on, bro. Bring it in. Bring it in.”

            They hugged tightly, and when they broke apart, Cooper added, “ _Super_ glad that worked out easy, I totally bought your ticket home like last week. My back-up plan was straight-up kidnapping you, so, like, thanks for not making me a felon, squirt.”

            He ruffled his hand through Blaine’s hair, upsetting the delicate balance of gel and mousse, then got up off the bed, presumably to re-pack the boxes they’d already opened. “You could’ve just, I don’t know…asked me?” offered Blaine.

            Cooper laughed fondly, as if this were a particularly silly joke.

            Blaine’s mother picked them up at the airport; she invited Cooper to stay for dinner, but he declined with a half-assed excuse which meant that he was going to his own mom’s place, but didn’t want to say so in front of Blaine and his mother. Abbey had a fraught relationship with Cooper’s mother, and although the boys had vaguely hoped the divorce might soften their feelings for one another, they’d had no such luck.

            On the car ride home – Cooper got a rental – Blaine didn’t say much at first. Then he asked, “Where’s Dad? I thought he was going to pick us up.”

            “Your father’s busy,” said his mother, in a tone that meant she strongly disagreed with whatever it was he was doing.

            “So he called you?”

            “I wasn’t about to leave you stranded at the airport, was I?” she asked, glancing at her son. “I hope Cooper wasn’t upset your father didn’t show.”

            “He’s fine,” mumbled Blaine, staring out the windshield. There was a short silence.

            Then Abbey Anderson (née Ocampo, which she had added back into her name on Facebook but Blaine wasn’t quite sure which name she preferred in everyday use now) reached out, and took her son’s hand. Blaine glanced at her. She smiled warmly at him.

            “It’s good to have you back home,” she said. “I told you we sold the house, but I think you’ll really like the new condo. Very tidy, excellent use of space. And I know how much you appreciate well-used space.”

            This was true.

            “You should get some rest when we get home,” she continued. “I set up a doctor’s appointment for you on Saturday-”

            “Mom,” groaned Blaine, “I told you, I can schedule my own appointments-”

            “Well you certainly _can_ ,” agreed Abbey smartly, “but then there’s the fact that you _won’t_ unless somebody does it for you. I found that doctor in New York, and you went, what? Twice?”

            “Three times,” muttered Blaine. “She told me I should focus on my music. But I don’t know what that means anymore, Mom. I don’t even know if I want that.”

            Abbey squeezed her son’s hand. “We’ll figure it out,” she assured him. “Together. And you can stay with me as long as you like. Don’t feel any pressure, Blaine. We’ll take this one step at a time.”

            At his mom’s new condo – which was exceptionally nice, even for her very reasonably salary at the tech firm where she worked, a fact that made him suspect the divorce hadn’t been quite as smooth as they’d told him it was – he hadn’t been there half an hour before his cell phone rang. A picture snapped from a photo in an old scrapbook appeared on his screen: Blaine was eight years old, and stood with his father at the shore of a lake.

            Blaine answered the phone. “Hi Dad,” he said. “What happened to picking us up at the airport?”

            “Sorry, Blaine – I was busy.” This was the same thing Blaine’s mother had said, but somehow seemed even less believable coming from his father’s mouth. “My fault, my fault. I’ll make it up to you – let me take you to dinner tonight.”

            Blaine took some clothes out of his suitcase, hanging them up in the closet in the spare bedroom. “Tonight?” he asked dubiously. “I just got here. Mom’s making dinner.”

            “Oh, you’ll have plenty of dinners with her while you’re back here. Come on, my treat, someplace fancy. Breadstix, maybe?”

            Blaine’s father knew how much he loved Breadstix. “Fine,” he sighed. “If Cooper can come too.”

            There was a beat of silence. “Didn’t Cooper leave for California?”

            “He’s staying for a little while too. It’ll be good, he and I don’t really keep up, so maybe we can kind of get to know each other while we’re both here.”

            “Of course,” said Blaine’s father. “Right. Absolutely. Sure thing he can come, son. Meet you two there at seven?”

            “Okay.”

            “Oh,” he added, “and – I’ll be bringing a friend. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

            This sent a frisson of caution down Blaine’s spine. “Oh my God,” he said, with dread. “Please don’t tell me somebody’s pregnant.”

            His father let out a hearty, forced laugh. “Nope,” he said. “Not yet, anyway.” He laughed again. “See you tonight, Blaine! Let your brother know?”

            Blaine agreed, and hung up. He didn’t want to go to dinner with his father, but he also did not think it was the time to start stirring up family drama. Poorly concealed displeasure flickered across his mother’s face when he told her where he’d be going, but she didn’t object, which Blaine appreciated. Even if they hated each other, his parents had never been one to fight in front of him, nor to be too outwardly bitter about their dislike.

            Cooper was running late, as usual, when he picked Blaine up. This was probably for the best, as their father had a reputation of running even later than Cooper, as was the case when they arrived and he was nowhere to be seen.

            They took a booth in the back, and Cooper asked, “So he specifically said she _wasn’t_ pregnant?”

            “He didn’t even say it was a she,” answered Blaine, as the waiter brought their drinks.

            “Too optimistic, bro. He’s still rocking that _li’l_ bit,” he held up his thumb and forefinger, an inch of space between them, “of homophobia. Vintage stuff.”

            “Yeah, well,” muttered Blaine. “He’s kind of misogynistic too, but that doesn’t stop him from dating women, does it?”

            But Blaine’s theory was dashed as he saw their father enter the restaurant, a woman just behind him. With a grimace, he craned his neck to get a look at them before they saw him. “Oh, God,” he sighed. “She’s, like. Your age.”

            Cooper turned around to glance back at the entrance, and as soon as he did, the look on his face told Blaine all he needed to know.

            “Boys!” said their father, reaching the table. “Good to see you! Doing all right, Blaine? Coop? Missed Ohio so much you both had to come home to roost, is that it?”

            Cooper said nothing, but when Blaine kicked him under the table he finally closed his mouth, tearing his eyes away from the pretty blonde girl at their father’s side.

            “Oh!” he said, presenting the woman beside him. “Where are my manners! Boys, this is Carlie – my new friend.”

            Knowing it was up to him to be the gentleman, Blaine held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Carlie,” he said.

            She took it, but before she could reply Cooper opened his mouth and said faux-cheerily, “Well, to be fair, you have met her before, Blaine. You were probably, oh – six or seven?”

            “What are you talking about, Coop?” asked their father, grinning at him, as if that could cover up the genuine wariness behind his eyes.

            Cooper smiled up at his father, then at Carlie. “Junior Prom,” he said. “I was King, you were Queen. We were going to go to a cheap motel afterwards, but then everybody got food poisoning and threw up everywhere?”

            “Yeah,” said Carlie; her own smile was stiff and stale, like a mannequin’s. “I actually spend quite a bit of time trying _not_ to remember that, Cooper.”

            “That’s not what it sounded like when we were Facebook messaging the other day.”

            “I said there was something important I had to tell you, didn’t I?”

            “Can we just,” interrupted Blaine, before his father could open his mouth, “order dinner, please? I’m starving.”

            They did so, and it did not get any better. They made Cooper switch seats to sit beside Blaine, presumably so their dad and Carlie could hold hands and cuddle and in general be disgustingly PDA-heavy the entire time. Cooper ordered a glass of wine, and then a second one a few minutes later, after he’d downed the first. As dinner wore on, things became increasingly tense between Cooper and his father, and Cooper and Carlie, all three of whom exchanged quick but biting barbs back and forth every now and then, as if Blaine wasn’t there.

            “Excuse me,” said Blaine, leaning away from the table to catch a waiter’s attention. Pointing at the empty wine glass before Cooper, he said, “My brother needs another glass of wine.”

            “So, Carlie,” continued Cooper, his voice light-hearted, “have you actually left Westerville, like, at all in the past decade, or have you just been here playing gold digger the entire time?”

            “That’s sweet, Cooper,” she replied, that stale smile still on her face. “What’s it like taking your dad and gay brother to your movie premiere to get a front-row viewing of your banana hammock’d junk?”

            “Alright you know what, Carlie, _XXL_ is a work of _art_ -”

            As their father reached out to try and calm his son, Carlie slid out of the booth. “I get the feeling you boys need to work some stuff out,” she said. “I’ll go…powder my nose.”

            She left. In the ensuing silence, a waiter came by to drop off another glass of wine. “I can’t believe this, Dad,” said Cooper, shaking his head. As soon as the waiter was out of sight, Blaine took Cooper’s wine glass and raised it to his lips, grimacing at the sour taste. “My _prom_ date?”

            “Well, honestly, Cooper, this is not how I would’ve wanted to break it to you. If Blaine here hadn’t invited you along-”

            Blaine, halfway through pouring the wine down his throat, choked slightly. “This is not my fault,” he spluttered, making a face at the taste still lingering in his mouth. “I mean, Dad. This is a new low, even for you.”

            “Okay, Blaine, don’t be too hasty,” said Cooper, although his voice was hard and he was badly trying to hide the fact that he was upset. “There was that one time you cheated on your wife at the time with your ex-wife at the time, which is probably why said wife became ex-wife.”

            “Wait, what?” asked Blaine. To Cooper, he asked, “He cheated on _my_ mom with _your_ mom?”

            “Yes,” answered Cooper, nodding. “Which really makes me doubt my mother’s judgment, because he cheated on her with your mom to begin with.”

            Affronted, their father protested, “You were the one who said I needed to expand my horizons after that, Cooper! And now you’re angry with me for taking your advice?”

            “My,” said Cooper, “ _prom_ ,” Blaine raised the glass to his lips again, throwing back the rest of the wine, “ _date_.”

            “Blaine, please,” said the older man, appealing to his younger son. “Don’t judge me. How am I supposed to control the mysterious working of the heart? You of all people-”

            “Blaine’s _gay_ ,” said Cooper. “Dad, you’re just a _creep_.”

            While their father blustered through a defense, Blaine leaned sideways to get a look at the door. “Aaa-nd, she’s out,” he said, watching Carlie slip out the entrance. “What a surprise. Let’s go. Cooper, can we go now?”

            “Hold on,” he said, then he reached out and stopped a waiter and (in a terrible Australian accent) asked, “Could I get some more wine, please?”

            When they returned with another glass, Cooper picked it up by the stem, stood up, threw it right on their father’s shirt, then said, “Come on, Blaine, we’re leaving,” and the two of them stalked out. The Anderson boys had always been one for theatrics.

            In the car, there was a full minute of silence.

            They certainly could talk about their father: there was plenty to talk about, a lot to hate about the guy clashing with the fact that, other than his infidelity issues, he had not been a terrible dad, and the two of them didn’t have a lot of experience talking badly of him. Blaine had never confided in Cooper the subtler ways that their father’s homophobia had manifested, which had always been his most present source of resentment towards the man (the cheating had seemed less important, back when Blaine was in high school).

            But Cooper had shut their father down at dinner when he tried to take advantage of Blaine’s sexuality to make a point, which Blaine appreciated, and made him think that they didn’t have to talk about it out loud. They never had before, except for maybe that time they were watching the Cowboys game together and their dad kept pointing out the cheerleaders, until Cooper had said, “For Christ’s sake, Dad, he’s more interested in the players, all right? Give it a rest.”

            This was not something Blaine wanted to discuss. Nor, he could tell, did Cooper want to talk about Carlie, and the sheer inappropriateness of her relationship with their father.

            What Blaine wanted to do at that point was continue feeding the growing buzz in his head from the wine, get lost in some music, and hook up with some nameless guy who wouldn’t remind him of Kurt, but that was unlikely, because everyone and everything seemed to somehow remind him of Kurt.

            “Hey, Coop,” he said, glancing over at his brother. “Wanna do me a solid?”

            “Sure thing, little brother. What’s up?”

            “If you take a right up here and then keep going past Wal-Mart,” he instructed, pointing down a street, “there’s this, like…bar thing. Just drop me off there and I can find my own way home later.”

            Cooper laughed and asked, “What, Scandals? Bro, I love you, but aren’t you a little young to be heading into a 21+ nightclub alone?”

             A red blush rose to Blaine’s cheeks. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said. “You can pick up girls anywhere, I have to specifically go somewhere, like Scandals, so that I don’t set off anyone’s gay panic button, or something-”

            “Nah, it’s cool,” said Cooper, turning the car with a shrug. “I’ll come with. Be your DD.”

            “Coop,” said Blaine. “It’s a _gay_ bar.”

            “And my _Magic Mike_ character is gay, isn’t he?”

            “ _Is_ he, though?” asked Blaine doubtfully.

            “Whatever! It’ll be good research, Blaine. Don’t you want an accurate portrayal of the gay lifestyle? How am I supposed to do that if I’ve never even had any experience with the gay subculture?”

            “ _I’m_ gay, Coop.”

            “Yeah, but,” said Cooper, glancing at Blaine. “You’re like, twelve.”

            Knowing it made him sound like a pouty teenager, but unable to stop himself, Blaine muttered defensively, “I’m nineteen…”

            Blaine had kept that fake ID Sebastian made for him in his wallet for almost three years now, never knowing when he’d need to use it again. The guy at the door didn’t even check, though, just took one look at Cooper and let them both in, probably because Cooper was hanging onto Blaine’s arm. “Oh, no,” said Blaine, at the guy’s look. “No no no, no, he’s my brother-”

            “Nice,” said Cooper, glancing around to survey they place as soon as they got in. “Very nice. Nothing on LA, but hey, as long as it gets the job done.”

            Blaine asked, “You go to gay bars in LA?”

            “No,” answered Cooper, “but I have been to San Francisco, which is basically just one big city-wide gay bar. Dibs on the leather daddy,” he said, pointing to a corner of the place, and Blaine shook his head ruefully as Cooper sped away to ‘research,’ as it were.

            Knowing that he had too much dignity to allow his older brother to see him grinding on the dance floor with some random guy, no matter how hot, Blaine miserably went to take a seat at the bar.

            Being here just reminded him of Kurt. It was still a tender wound, one that injured him when he poked at it, but he couldn’t help but think of the last time they were there together. The one-too-many drinks he’d had, the grabby hands in the back of the car, the desperation that briefly eclipsed his love and respect for his boyfriend.

            Ex-boyfriend. Ex-fiancé.

            He had been so sure they were made for each other.

            He ordered a drink from the bartender, then glanced out at the floor to see Cooper dancing with the big leather-clad guy he’d pointed out earlier. Although it was embarrassing, it was still not quite as bad as watching him strip onscreen, so Blaine wasn’t complaining.

            While he watched, someone sidled up to him at the bar. “Who’s your date?” asked a vaguely familiar voice. “And…why does he look like the Free-Credit-Rating-Today-dot-com guy?”

            Blaine looked around to see someone tall and burly standing beside him, smiling bashfully.

            “Oh,” said Blaine. “Hi.”

            It had been more than two years since Blaine last saw Dave Karofsky; then, it had only been a glance inside a hospital room, when Kurt had insisted on going in on his own to talk to him.

            Even this memory, though, wasn’t quite about Karofsky: afterwards that same day, in all the fallout from Karofsky’s suicide attempt and the conversations about mental health, Blaine had confessed to Kurt about his own mental illness.

            “I’d never do anything like that,” Blaine had assured him quickly, when Kurt’s eyes had widened in fear. “But…I just… I get where it’s coming from, I guess. I really, really feel for him. I wish…I could do more.”

            Karofsky had all but fallen off Blaine’s radar since then. But here he was, in the flesh, and not looking too worse for wear. Good. Despite any lingering resentment and anger towards someone who had caused so much trouble for Kurt, Blaine was somehow relieved to know that Karofsky had made it out of high school okay.

            “He’s not my date,” said Blaine, gesturing towards Cooper. He thought this should’ve been obvious due to the fact that Cooper was currently grinding up against some other guy, but then again, last time he’d been here with Kurt, he’d spent an awful lot of time awful close to Sebastian. “He’s my brother, actually.”

            Karofsky’s eyebrows shot up. “You and your brother are both-”

            “Oh, no,” said Blaine, shaking his head. “He’s not actually gay, he just plays one on TV. Kind of.”

            There was an awkward sort of pause.

            “How are you?” asked Blaine, just to break the silence.

            “Good,” replied Karofsky, nodding. “No, yeah, I’m good. Doing good. Going to school over at Lima U.”

            “Great,” said Blaine, nodding. “That sounds great. Playing football?”

            “Yep. Got this scholarship for gay athletes and everything.”

            “Wow, awesome. Nice.”

            There was a pause.

            Blaine asked tentatively, “So…you’re out?”

            Karofsky nodded, and gave him a sheepish little grin. “More or less,” he said. “It’s a daily thing. Right?”

            “It is,” agreed Blaine, nodding his head. “Well, that’s good. I’m happy for you, Dave.”

            “Me too,” said Dave. “What are you doing here? Didn’t I hear something about you and Kurt living the big life in New York?”

            “You did,” said Blaine. He had been dreading this question. “But, you know. Things happen. Life gets in the way. I’m back here, for the time being and Kurt-”

            He broke off, unable to say it out loud, to speak it into existence.

            Sensing what Blaine hadn’t said, Karofsky raised his beer and said, “Looks like you could use a drink.”

            Blaine jerked his head towards the bartender. “I’ve – got a cocktail coming out.”

            Karofsky laughed. “A real drink,” he said. “Not some frou-frou mixed drink.”

            Blaine eyed Karofsky. “What are you drinking?”

            Karofsky held out his beer, tipped it towards Blaine. “Just try it. See if you like it.”

            For a second, Blaine didn’t move.

            Then he reached out and took the bottle. Their fingers brushed slightly when it exchanged hands. Blaine took a sip, then made a face and handed it back. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think I’m more of a wine cooler type of guy.”

            “Fair enough,” said Karofsky, with a shrug. He took another sip, lips lingering for just one moment along the rim. Presumably it tasted like the Grape Skittles Lip Smackers Blaine was currently wearing. He immediately cursed himself, wishing he was wearing something a little more sexy, and then stopped thinking that and banished the thought from his head. Why should be feel the need to be sexy for _Karofsky_ , of all people?

            The bartender finally produced Blaine’s drink, yellow and carbonated in a champagne flute.

            “Fancy,” said Karofsky, nodding at the drink. “What’s in it?”

            “Um, gin,” said Blaine, taking the glass. “Bubbly, lemon juice, some sugar.”

            “Ah,” said Karofsky. “So basically a Tom Collins?”

            Blaine, who didn’t know his mixed drinks that well and had always relied on Kurt’s knowledge when ordering them, said, “Yeah, I guess.”

            He paused, looking down at the drink, then added, “Kurt used to mix them in a pitcher. We always said we’d save them for a party or something, but we never actually had any parties, so we pretty much just slowly drank the whole pitcher throughout the week.” He smiled slightly. “Fridays got pretty wild.”

            Miserably, he stared down into his glass.

            Karofsky finally worked up the nerve to ask, “You two still together?”

            Blaine didn’t answer at first. “No.”

            “Sucks.”

            “It was a mutual decision.”

            The short silence was filled only with the heavy bass of the music pumping through the club. Blaine took a sip.

            Karofsky pointed at the drink. “Good as Kurt makes them?”

            Blaine’s first instinct was to say no, but, honestly, the drink wasn’t bad.

            “It’s all right,” he admitted, shooting a shy grin up at Karofsky. “Here. I tried yours, now you try mine.”

            He lifted the flute up to Karofsky, who made a face as if to say, _If you insist_ … and then let Blaine bring the glass up to his mouth; Karofsky placed his fingers around the stem to guide the glass, and their hands touched again as Karofsky took a sip.

            Blaine took the glass away.

            There was a moment, then Karofsky looked up at him, and he grinned. “Pretty good,” he said. “Hey, you don’t mind if I order another one for me, do you?”

            “It’s on me,” said Blaine, and he caught the bartender’s attention and ordered another one for himself, and one for Karofksy too.

            Two more cocktails and a boilermaker later (Blaine took the shot, Karofsky chugged the beer), and suddenly they were outside in the brisk Ohio air, and Blaine’s back was pressed up against the brick wall of the club, and his blood felt pooled in his lips, kissed and teased and bitten by lips that weren’t much like Kurt’s but tasted like gin and lemon and sugar, and pooled too between his legs, a nervous hungering for rash decisions and intimacy not unlike the last time he’d been drunk in the parking lot at Scandals tugging at his insides.

            Karofsky even suffered the indignity of Blaine accidentally gasping the wrong name at one point, but he didn’t seem to mind, although he did pause pointedly before pressing into Blaine’s groin, but Blaine’s desperate, bucking hips served as fairly explicit nonverbal consent. Just as he continued, reaching one hand down to roughly undo Blaine’s fly, someone else appeared around the corner of the building. “Hey!” he called loudly, aggressively striding towards them.

            For one brief second, head clouded by alcohol and arousal, Blaine imagined it was Kurt come back, here to slap Karofsky across the face and take Blaine into his arms, and everything would be like it was before…

            But this guy was too tall to be Kurt, and his hair was dark and familiar. “ _Hey_ ,” he said again, taking rough hold of Karofsky, tearing him off Blaine.

            “Wait,” said Blaine, his mouth and body working slower than his head. “Wait wait wait, Cooper, hold on-”

            Slamming Karofsky against the wall, Cooper held up a fist and growled, “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

            “No no no no, Cooper, stop!” said Blaine, reaching out to grab his brother by the shoulders. “He and I were – it’s – no it’s okay, Coop, we were-” His mouth wasn’t working properly, and it was infuriating: he had to get across to Cooper that he was all right. “It was – _consensual_ , and everything, Cooper, I’m down, I just want to get-”

            Cooper let go of Karofsky, but still eyed him suspiciously.

            “You’re drunk,” he said, pointing at Blaine. Taking him firmly by the upper arm, he began to tug him towards the parking lot. “And what does high school sex ed say about consent when you’re drunk, Blaine?”

            “I didn’t learn anything from high school sex ed,” slurred Blaine, as Cooper pulled him away from Karofsky. “I had to Google that shit, Coo-”

            “Call me!” called Karofsky.

            Blaine waved his hand back at Karofsky as they reached the car and Cooper opened the door for him, helping him into the passenger seat.

            On the ride home, Blaine happily leaned against the window. There was a smile on his face the likes of which Cooper hadn’t seen in months.

            “That was fun,” muttered Blaine sleepily, forehead creating a little ring of condensation on the window where it rested. “That was good, Coop. That was good.”

            Before Cooper had time to reply, Blaine’s heavy eyelids fluttered closed, rocked to sleep by the gentle movement of the car slipping through the night.

\----

            Lying on the bed in his mom’s condo, Blaine stared at the ceiling. He’d spent the last thirty or so hours alternating between sleeping, moping, and marathoning another Dragon Age play through – finally romancing Dorian this time, and then feeling weird about being attracted to Dorian because he identified so much with Dorian that it was basically like popping a boner for yourself. After one half-hearted shame-ridden attempt to cheer himself off via self-stimulation, he decided that it was time to break his self-imposed exile, and return to the land of the living.

            His phone had been lying untouched by the side of his bed the entire time. He had barely been able to look at it lately; a few weeks ago he’d gotten a text from Kurt and had been too weak to ever open it, and the notification sat there, bright and red and unrepentant, taunting him.

            From his messages screen he could read the entirety of the text under Kurt’s name, since all it said was _Okay_ in response to Blaine telling him that Cooper was coming over to pick up his stuff, but still. Opening that text – getting rid of that little red marker – seemed like the end-all be-all of their relationship. Maybe if he never acknowledged his very last text from Kurt, he could pretend this all hadn’t happened, that it wasn’t over, that there were no _lasts_ , no matter how obvious and terrifying the truth was.

            But since he had last checked his phone, he had somehow accrued three voicemails. He couldn’t remember hearing his phone ring or vibrate, but then again, he had been blasting _1989_ most of the time and trying not to weep along as T-Swift sang, “ _My last, request, i-is…_ ”

            He only recognized one of the numbers, so he listened to that one first.

            “Hee-eey, Blaine,” said Sam; he sounded cautious and tentative. He must’ve heard what happened. “Just checking in. Somebody,” Kurt, Blaine knew, but he appreciated that Sam knew he might not want to think about Kurt at the moment, “said you were back home. What’s up? I’m in Lima, at McKinley, actually. Not, like going back to school there, because I definitely graduated, but…I kind of work here now. So you should come by sometime! We’ll hang out. Stevie and Stacey would love to see you again, come around for dinner sometime. Just, like, let me know you’re all right. Sorry I didn’t get out to visit before…you know. Anyway.”

            Sam cleared his throat. “ _Alright alright alright_. That was Matthew McConaughey. Hey, did your brother ever introduce you to Channing Tatum? Okay okay, we can talk about when we see each other…call me back, bro. Missed you.”

            He hung up.

            Blaine thought about calling him back. But first, he played the next message.

            “Hey, Blaine,” said another voice; the words were the same, but there could not be more of a difference between the two of them. “It’s, uh – it’s Dave. From the other night.” Blaine realized with a jolt that it had been a few days since the incident at Scandals. Dave probably thought he was deliberately not calling him back – but that wasn’t true. Turns out in the heat of the moment he had totally forgotten to get Dave’s number, so he couldn’t have called him if he wanted to. But it was a good thing that he definitely remembered taking Dave’s phone and putting in his own number. It was probably better that Dave called him anyway, rather than the other way around. Only because Blaine wasn’t sure he would’ve called at all.

            “Anyway,” continued Dave, sounding distinctly nervous. “I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to…meet for coffee or something? I mean, I have classes and practice and stuff so…maybe dinner sometime, if that works for you. I actually have a game coming up, if you want to come. If you want,” he added, unnecessarily. “But. Yeah. I mean. Just text me or something. It’s cool. Okay. Um. See you. ‘Bye.”

            Dave too hung up. Blaine found himself oddly endeared, actually: to hear someone as big and burly and intimidating as Dave Karofsky jittery and stumbling over his words was kind of cute, and Blaine, flattered, couldn’t help but appreciate the attention.

            He copied the number and opened up his messages. Ignoring the unopened text from Kurt, he composed a new message. _Hey, it’s Blaine_ , he typed out. _I can do coffee sometime. When’s good?_ He sent that, then hesitated, then added, _And I’d love to come to your game_.

            His finger hesitated over the _Send_ button, then he steeled himself, and tapped it. The blue message sent with a little whooshing sound.

            Finally, he tapped the third and final voicemail.

            “Hello, Mr. Anderson, this is Headmaster Emory Charles Smith from Dalton Academy – I recently spoke with your mother and understood that you’re in the area, if so, would you please give me a call, I’d like to discuss an teaching opportunity with you, as the current faculty advisor for the Warblers is out of commission for the time being. The Dalton Warblers, as I’m sure you recall, require a certain degree of qualified oversight and I had rather hoped that you might entertain the idea of returning to Dalton just for the interim in order to keep the boys in tip-top shape. Please contact me as soon as possible.”

            Lying on his bed, hair an ungelled mess, still in clothes from an indeterminate number of hours ago, Blaine felt a sudden warmth bloom inside of him, like a great weight lifted off his chest. He breathed in deeply. The air tasted like freedom.

            Dalton: the Warblers. The first place he felt free to be himself; the place he was adored, even – yes, he was not too humble to admit it – worshipped. He remembered that feeling fondly, of endless solos and his classmates lining up to hum and harmonize in the background – a place he felt safe, and welcome, and in control.

            Well. The prodigal son had come home. Yes, Headmaster Smith, he would return to Dalton – and he would do it gladly, triumphantly, and with such pizzazz and flourish the likes of which the hallowed halls of Dalton Academy had never seen.

            Sitting up straight in bed, he calmly hit the number on the screen.

            “Hello,” he said, and even he was surprised to hear how confident he sounded. “This is Blaine Anderson, I’m calling in regards to a message I received from you a few days ago…”

            And a few days after that, Blaine sat at a little table at the Lima Bean, a triple-shot mocha bianca with extra whip in hand. It wasn’t his usual coffee order, but he needed something sweet and strong to deal with all the changes in his life at the moment. He was just looking through his phone, that angry red notification still piercing and bright on his home screen, when someone sidled up to the table, taking a seat.

            “Hey,” he said.

            Blaine looked up. “Dave,” he replied, a smile on his face. “Hi.”

            “Have you been waiting long?” asked Dave anxiously. “Sorry. My class ran kind of late.”

            “Yeah, no, no problem,” said Blaine, nodding at him. “What class was it?”

            “Business ethics,” answered Dave, giving Blaine an apologetic look. “I’m a marketing major, actually – I wanna be a sports agent.”

            “Oh, neat,” said Blaine. “You know, my dad went to college with the guy who used to manage the Bengals. Maybe when you graduate he can hook you up or something.”

            “Wow, yeah,” said Dave, his eyes lighting up. “That’d be amazing.”

            “Yeah,” said Blaine, nodding. “I’d totally love to come to your game, by the way. When is it?”

            “Thursday night.”

            “Perfect. I get Friday mornings off.”

            “Oh, are you working?”

            “Yeah,” said Blaine, grinning proudly. “At Dalton, actually.”

            Dave looked surprised. “Teaching?”

            “Kind of. The Warblers – that’s the show choir over there,” he added, when Dave looked a little lost, “they needed a new advisor. And I’m here, and I am kind of a show choir legend, so.” He smiled and held out his hands. “I answered the call.”

            “Cool,” said Dave. “Good for you.”

            “Thanks.”

            There was a silence. Usually this would be the place where Blaine would crank up the charm and start flirting, but that felt oddly out of place with Dave, somehow profane. He didn’t know if it was the history between Dave and Kurt that made it feel weird, or if his tricks were just rusty after so long in a stable relationship with Kurt, or the fact that not a week ago they’d had their tongues down each other’s’ throats, but something felt like a big block in his path, preventing him from moving forward.

            Thankfully, Dave did it for him.

            “So,” he began, leaning forward earnestly. “Look – about the other night at Scandals…”

            Blaine held up his hands to silence him. “Nope,” he said. “It’s fine. I get grabby hands with I’m drunk, sorry. It was my fault.”

            “I just – wouldn’t want you to think I was, I don’t know, trying to take advantage of you, or something.”

            “I didn’t think that.”

            “Kind of seemed like your brother did.”

            “What, Cooper? Forget about him,” said Blaine, waving his hand. “He was just protecting my honor. He was right about one thing though – we should avoid serious hookups when we’re drunk. I’m really into consent and everything. Only sober sex with explicit verbal consent from now on.”

            Dave’s eyebrows shot up, and his eyes widened slightly. It took Blaine a second to realize what he’d said.

            Tentatively, Dave asked, “…From now on?”

            “Wait, wait wait,” said Blaine, immediately backtracking. “That came out wrong.”

            Before Blaine could try to explain himself anymore, he was distracted by a small, slight smile on Dave’s face. He let out a little laugh, looking down at his coffee – from the words written in Sharpie on the side of the cup, Blaine could tell it was a hot chocolate. No caffeine at all. Cute.

            “Well, I’m flattered,” said Dave, looking bashful and sweet and shy all at the same time as he glanced up at Blaine. “But you’ll have to take me to dinner first, Anderson.”

            Blaine blinked at him.

            Then, slowly, a weak grin eked onto his face.

            “I can do that,” he said, “Karofsky.”

            On Thursday night, still riding the post-game adrenaline, Blaine and Dave had their first (sober) kiss behind the bleachers, in a move that felt like a hot teenage fantasy mixed with a very grown-up quirky romcom sort of love story. The show choir director and the college football star: Blaine could already practically hear the jingle for their ABC family sitcom in his head.

            Lima U had lost the football game, of course, but that’s because no school in Lima ever really won anything, except for that one time New Directions won Nationals. It didn’t matter. After weeks of moping over the breakup, preceded by weeks of ever-icier cold shoulders, and a stubborn refusal to admit the deepening divide between him and Kurt in New York, it felt good to be touched, to be wanted, to have someone there.

            So was it a rebound? Yes. Absolutely. But that didn’t necessarily mean that it couldn’t grow into something more. Either way, for the time being Blaine was finally letting himself enjoy the moment. This was good: it was new, it was different. It was Blaine pushing himself, stepping out of the stifling box that was his comfort zone. Taking chances, as Cooper had told him he needed to do.

            One morning he’d even packed away all his bow ties in a bottom drawer, set aside the gel in his mother’s bathroom, and given up on attempting to comb the monstrosity of his mushroom hair – which actually, as Dave said when he saw it, adorably dazzled by the difference, wasn’t a monstrosity at all, but, in Dave’s eloquent words, “ _really_ hot.”

            This had prompted a make-out session, and Blaine still hadn’t quite gotten used to how big Dave was compared to  him, but no matter how confused his head was, the rest of him seemed pretty onboard – that is, _totally_ turned on. Dave’s hands in his free hair, which had always made him a little uncomfortable when either Kurt or Sam had done it, somehow seemed strikingly exciting now, heightening his arousal into something he hadn’t felt in months.

            “Hey,” said Dave, one post-coitus evening at Blaine’s dad’s apartment – Blaine’s father stayed in the office late some nights, which meant that it was a safer bet than his mother’s condo, since she was liable to be in and out during the day. Blaine had been bouncing in between both their places depending on necessity, whim, and, like today, the restless tugging of uncontrollable desire.

            Blaine looked over at Dave, who was watching him with worried eyes. “Hm?”

            “You think, maybe…we’re going a little fast?” asked Dave, anxiously.

            _Yes_ , was the obvious answer, especially given what he and Blaine had been talking about only a few hours previously. But that would mean admitting that Blaine’s feelings were maybe, in some ways, less about Dave and more about himself. More about Kurt. And no matter how much he might only actually be using Dave, Blaine wasn’t cruel enough to admit it out loud.

            “No,” said Blaine, turning onto his side, reaching out to brush his fingers across Dave’s cheek. “No. This is good, Dave. We,” _I_ , “need this.”

            It was about a month in to this new relationship that Blaine received a series of texts just as he was walking out of rehearsal with the Warblers. _Yo Blaine are you not getting my calls? Call me bro. Let’s hang out_.

            He flicked through the texts casually. Oh, Sam. The guy was beginning to sound desperate; surely by the sixth text to which he’d received no reply he would’ve gotten the idea.

            But as soon as Blaine thought this, he felt bad about it. He didn’t want to ignore Sam. He didn’t want to lose that friendship, but he’d been so consumed with Dave and with the Warblers that they’d barely seen each other at all, and one of those times Sam hadn’t recognized him at all, which had nearly caused Blaine to spiral into an existential crisis before he realized that all his ills could be solved with hair gel. Dave looked a little put out when Blaine saw him the next day, hair smooth and flat, but he’d gotten over it.

            In any case, Blaine was not actively trying to ignore Sam. And even if he was, he wouldn’t want Sam to think he was. And even if he did want Sam to think he was ignoring him, it definitely wasn’t a conscious manipulative power-trip kind of decision. Obviously.

            Blaine’s phone buzzed again. Low-key flattered by Sam’s insistence, he swiped without looking, opening his messages.

            He stopped.

            It wasn’t from Sam.

\----

            _Hey you didn’t accidentally take my Grey’s Anatomy s6 did you_

\----

            Blaine had taken Kurt’s season six DVDs: the only bitter breakup act of spite he’d committed, a spur-of-the-moment decision. Later, sleeping with it in his bed for several weeks, the only bittersweet reminder he had left of Kurt, he regretted swiping it, but he had been too proud or too heartbroken to return it. It was buried somewhere in his closet at his mom’s place currently.

\----

            _Oops yeah I think I did_

_I’ll mail it to you_

\----

            _Ok thanks_

\----

            He walked out to his car, got in, and drove halfway home before he had to pull over to the side of the road and take out his phone and stare at the messages icon, the familiar red notification vast and gaping in its absence. His lips and fingers felt very cold. Their first post-breakup text, platonic as could be.

            Blaine thought that he should feel ruined, devastated, breathless, like he couldn’t go on.

            But he didn’t. On the contrary, something seemed to solidify before him, like mist condensing into rain, or a ghost transmuting into flesh. This was it. There it was. It was over between the two of them, and life hadn’t ended. In fact, life was going relatively well for Blaine, all things considered.

            He wanted to cry, but didn’t.

            Instead, he tapped on Sam’s name on the car’s Bluetooth and merged back into traffic, a tinny ringing filling the car’s interior before Sam picked up.

\----

            Samuel Jessica Evans was doing pretty good for himself. The Treasure Trails photos had apparently sold to some other ad campaign, and apparently Sam’s contract had been way better than he’d known, because he was still collecting royalties on his image; that, added to his income from McKinley, where he’d recently been promoted to official co-coach of the football team, meant that his mom didn’t have to pick up extra night shifts anymore, and his dad had been promoted, so he got every other weekend off now. They even had enough to get a doctor for Stevie; the twins were entering middle school soon, and Stevie was determined to start fresh in the sixth grade, where everyone would know her as a girl.

            Although he loved his family, he loved his work, and he loved mentoring high school students, there was one thing Sam was missing: his friends. All the old Glee Club members were spread across the country, and Sam had been too busy to get out to visit any of them. In fact he didn’t keep up with many of them either – with the exception of Mercedes, whom he texted constantly, and called when he could. Her album was amazing. He always blasted it through the speakers for the boys during football practice.

            So when he texted Kurt to ask if they were planning on doing NYCC again this year, he was shocked when Kurt called a few minutes afterwards. “I didn’t want to break the news via text,” he explained. “Blaine and I aren’t together anymore, Sam.”

            At first, Sam hadn’t believed him. But Kurt insisted, leaving Sam dumbstruck and questioning everything he knew about life, fate, and love. If Kurt and Blaine couldn’t make it, who _could?_

            But he had been even more shocked when Kurt sighed, “The last I heard, he headed back home to Ohio. I guess New York wasn’t the right place for him anymore. I mean, in a way he did come all the way out here just for me, which, honestly, was a bad decision I should’ve anticipated from the beginning. No wonder he was so unsatisfied.”

            “No way,” said Sam immediately, almost out of reflex. “Unsatisfied? Blaine was _crazy_ for you, Kurt. In the good way.”

            This had hurt Kurt far more than he anticipated. The call didn’t last much longer after that, although Sam was a little bewildered at how eager to end their conversation Kurt had been.

            He was concerned for Kurt, but he was more concerned about the fact that Blaine had apparently been back in Ohio for at least a week now, and he hadn’t heard anything from him.

            Once they did reconnect, there was something different about Blaine. He seemed, in a way, less like the fun, nerdy, egotistic and a little insecure dude he had been as Kurt’s boyfriend and Sam’s best friend, and more like the confident, reserved soloist he had been when Sam first met him. He was back at Dalton, for goodness’s sake. Sam felt like he’d been caught in some weird time loop, like _he_ was Nero and he’d been sent back to destroy Vulcan. Except, finally, he understood what Blaine had always said about _Star Trek_ 2009: it didn’t make sense that Nero would focus on revenge, instead of saving his own planet. Sam didn’t want to destroy anything. He wanted to help.

            After a few weeks of only sporadically seeing Blaine, never for more than half an hour or so at a time, Sam finally got a call back from Blaine, wherein he said that he really _did_ want to see him, but he’d just been so caught up with everything else going on lately. It turned out that football practice actually ended before the Warblers rehearsal did (Sam figured this wasn’t all that surprising, given how professional those guys had always been), so when he was done he drove his dad’s old pickup to Dalton, which was, in the late afternoon, mostly empty. Teenage boys with impeccably styled hair wearing blue and red blazers trickled out the front doors, presumably just finished with rehearsal.

            Catching the door before it swung shut behind some of the students, Sam entered the school, glancing through the elaborate halls. He didn’t know the layout of the place all that well: he could count the number of times he’d been there on one hand, the last of which had been when Blaine proposed to Kurt. Thinking of that hurt him, because he now knew it hadn’t lasted. He had always known that he wasn’t quite included in that particular part of their relationship, but somehow Kurt and Blaine together had come to mean something that, whether or not he was physically there, Sam felt a part of. Even if Sam hadn’t been with them when they broke up, their breaking up still stung on a visceral, personal level.

            Unsure where to go, Sam retraced some familiar steps, his feet unconsciously taking him the only place he really knew.

            The room’s grand door was propped open, so he went inside. There was a desk with three seats at it, behind which a tall painting hung. Fancy sofas surrounded a fancy little table, on which a chessboard sat, pieces strewn haphazardly across the tiled squares, as if halfway through a game. Sam didn’t know how to play chess, but he leaned down to pick up one of the pieces anyway.

            Just as his fingers touched the crown of the king, someone spoke up from the door.

            “It’s just a decoration,” said Blaine, lingering by the threshold. “The pieces are actually glued down.”

            Sam blinked up at him, then wiggled at the chess piece. It didn’t move. Then he straightened up and crossed the room; Blaine moved forward too, and they met halfway, clapping their arms around each other in a tight hug.

            “Hey, man,” said Sam. “It’s really good to see you.”

            “Saw you last week, didn’t I?” replied Blaine, pulling away and grinning at him.

            “Yeah, for like, five minutes.”

            “I had to run.” He made a face, which lapsed immediately back into a grin. “Warblers schedule is intense. That reminds me, how are the New Directions going?”

            “Well,” said Sam, “I mean…they aren’t, really.”

            Blaine looked concerned; but again, the look only lasted a second, before that easy smile returned. “That’s a shame,” he said, “but not for the guys I guess. Just means they won’t have much competition this year, huh?”

            “Right…I guess so…”

            There was a long pause. Sam glanced around the room; Blaine watched him, then asked lightly, “Recognize it?” Sam nodded. “Yep,” sighed Blaine, holding his arms out at the room. “This is the room where we first met, isn’t it? The pizza went right there.” He pointed at one of the tables.

            “It wasn’t the first time we met,” Sam reminded him. “Valentine’s Day, remember? And then there was Rachel’s party too.”

            “Yeah, but you spent the entire time making out with Santana, if I recall correctly.”

            “True,” said Sam, “but you made out with Rachel, so you don’t really have any right to judge me.”

            “Hey, I don’t judge,” said Blaine innocently, holding up his hands. “It does kind of seem like you make a habit out of making out with people who’re gay, though.”

            There was a split second of tension that Sam didn’t quite know how to address. Blaine and Kurt weren’t together anymore. What did that mean for Blaine and Sam?

            Just as Sam was working himself up to asking about this, Blaine cut in by saying, “You know…I missed you, Sam. I know it’s been way too long since we hung out, and that’s totally my fault. But from now on, it’s gonna be like it used to be. We’ll be best friends again. I promise.”

            A rush of emotion hit Sam, and he finally returned Blaine’s grin. “Okay, good,” he said. “You got me worried for a second there that, I don’t know, maybe this would be weird or something, but we did always say that we were going to stay friends even after graduation, and I _do_ still send Tina weekly Vines, so…”

            Blaine laughed. “And does she actually send you boob videos in response?”

            “She hasn’t yet, but one day she will, hopefully.”

            “I’m glad we’re both here back together,” said Blaine. “It’s good for us.” He paused, then said, “But.”

            “No buts,” said Sam immediately, a kneejerk reaction. “Come on. Don’t let there be a but. Unless it’s yours,” he added. “Because those pants look great on you.”

            “Thanks,” laughed Blaine. “It’s not a bad but, Sam. It’s just, if we’re going to be hanging out again, then I have to be honest with you. It’s not just the Warblers that’ve been taking up so much of my time. I’m…” he paused, a flash of concern flitting across his face, “…seeing someone.”

            Sam blinked. “Oh,” he said. “Okay, cool. I mean. I’m not, like, surprised or anything. You’re pretty cool and hot and everything, so.” He hesitated, then asked, “It’s not that douchebag who almost blinded you, is it? Because I totally support you and all, but that would be, like, the worst possible option.”

            Blaine chuckled. “It’s not Sebastian,” he said. “But you do know him. In fact,” he glanced at his watch, “he should be here any minute now…”

            As if this was his cue, Sam suddenly heard heavy footsteps padding down the corridor towards the room. Sam raised his eyebrows at Blaine, then glanced expectantly at the door.

            Someone entered the room, tapping playfully on the frame as he did so. “Knock knock,” teased Dave Karofsky, grinning at Blaine.

            Sam stared at him.

            Beaming, Blaine crossed the room to greet him, planting a firm and little-too-long kiss on Dave’s mouth. “Oh my gosh,” said Sam out loud, unable to repress his disgust. “Blaine, are you _kidding_ me?”

            Blaine turned around, disappointment in his eyes. “Sam,” he began. “I know this might come as kind of a shock-”

            “Karofsky?” Sam demanded, pointing at the guy. “ _Him?_ All of Lima’s weirdly high proportion of gay dudes available to you, and you go with _Karofsky_?”

            Before Blaine could respond, Karofksy moved forward. “Let me handle this,” he said to Blaine; to Sam, he continued, “Look, I just want you to know that I’m not the same guy you remember from high school. Blaine was nervous about telling you because he didn’t want you to think he did this to offend you, or hurt you-”

            “No, this doesn’t hurt me,” said Sam, shaking his head. “That black eye you gave me back in high school? _That_ hurt me.”

            “I’m sorry,” said Dave plainly. “I was in a bad place back then. But you have to believe me, I’ve grown a lot since then. I lashed out at Kurt because I was jealous that he was stronger than I was-”

            “ _Jealous_ ,” repeated Sam. His eyes flickered to Blaine. “Is that what this is about?”

            “No,” said Blaine firmly, reaching out to put a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Sam, listen to me. Dave and I actually have a lot in common. If you’d just calm down for a second, you’d realize the two of you have a lot in common too.”

            “Are you serious, Blaine?” asked Sam, searching in Blaine’s eyes for an answer that apparently wasn’t there. “I’m _nothing_ like him, and neither are you-”

            “Yes you are,” said Blaine pointedly. “You two both played football, right? You were teammates once.”

            “He may have been my teammate,” said Sam defensively, shooting an ugly look past Blaine’s shoulder at Dave, “but Kurt was my _friend_. And he was more than that to you, Blaine. I can’t believe you’d do this to him.”

            “This isn’t about him,” said Blaine. “He’s not even here, Sam.”

            “Yeah, of course he’s not! Because if he was, you two would be together!”

            “No,” said Blaine loudly, with more aggression than he had intended. “We wouldn’t!”

            There was a heavy silence. Sam glared at Dave, who gave Blaine an uneasy look, then began, “I can tell when I’m not wanted. Blaine, I’ll just…call you later.”

            “No,” said Blaine, spinning around, his voice slipping into an apologetic plea. “Dave, don’t go-”

            “No, it’s okay,” he said, holding up his hands and taking a step back. “You guys need to talk. I get it.” He raised a hand in optimistic farewell to Sam, and said, “See you later,” to them both, then left.

            Blaine stood at the door for a moment, facing away from Sam. Behind him, Sam shook his head, then went to one of the fancy sofas and sunk down into it.

            Abruptly, Blaine turned around, hands on his hips. “Why’d you have to do that?” he asked.

            “I could ask you the same thing,” Sam shot back. “Dude, I get that things are rough and you’re probably looking for a rebound, but _Karofsky_? How would you feel if Kurt turned around and dated one of the guys who put you in the hospital when you were a freshman?”

            “ _Hey_ ,” said Blaine, a brief flash of anger rising behind his eyes. “Dave is _not_ a bad guy, Sam.”

            “He threatened to kill Kurt!”

            “Yeah, and then he actually _did_ try to kill himself! Everything he ever did to Kurt came from a deep well of self-hatred, but the biggest victim of Dave’s bullying was himself. And Kurt supported him, remember? He forgave him.”

            Sam only eyed Blaine distrustfully, arms crossed. “I think this is about Kurt,” he said.

            “No,” said Blaine. “This is about me.”

            “No it’s not,” said Sam, shaking his head. “I know you. I know what you get like, I know that I’m really good at taking care of you and looking out for you and stuff and…” he looked up at Blaine earnestly, leaning forward. “I _love_ you, Blaine,” he said. “Yeah, I’m sad that you and Kurt didn’t work out, but…what about me?”

            Blaine watched him, pain and hesitance in his eyes.

            “You said,” continued Sam, “that you’d always love me. And that I had a place with you.”

            “That’s not what I said,” countered Blaine, shaking his head. He went to sit down on the sofa across from Sam, practically deflating as he did so. “I said you’d always have a place with _us_. Us, Sam. Me and Kurt. And there is no us anymore.”

            “Yes, there is,” replied Sam. “There’s still a me-and-you!”

            “There can’t be, Sam,” said Blaine; his voice was hard, and he wouldn’t look Sam in the eye. “Because I can’t even be in the same room with you without thinking about Kurt. And that hurts too much. Okay? I was going to _marry_ him, Sam. He was my soulmate. I can’t just…”

            Blaine stopped, biting his tongue. He swallowed, then reached up to rub his head.

            “The first few weeks,” he murmured, “everything reminded me of him. New York. Lima. Dalton. And yes, even Dave. But – I’m moving past that. Slowly. I have to, because I’m not getting back together with him, and that means if I don’t move on then I’m going to absolutely lose it. I can’t _handle_ thinking about him. You do know me, Sam, better than most anybody else does. So you should understand what I mean when I say that, I swear to God, I will literally _lose my mind_ if I don’t get over him.”

            He finally looked up at Sam, as if begging him to understand.

            A crushing sense of empathy reared in Sam’s chest, but he forced himself not to let it show. “Is that why you chose Karofsky?” he asked bitingly, nodding towards the door. “Because he _doesn’t_ remind you of Kurt?”

            “Dave reminds me of _me_ , Sam,” Blaine said stoically. “Kurt has always been so confident and sure about who he is, no matter what anybody said or did to him. He stands up to bullies: that’s who he is. Neither Dave nor I were that strong. You don’t understand, Sam, that has never been your life. I ran away from my bullies with my tail between my legs. Dave tried to do the same thing. Just in a different way.”

            There was a long silence. Sam leaned forward, elbows on his knees, trying to take all of this in.

            Without saying anything, Sam got up, went around the table with the fake chessboard on it, and sat down next to Blaine. He reached out and put his arms around him, leaning his head on Blaine’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just realized I haven’t said that yet. About you and Kurt. If it was anywhere near as bad as it was last time, it must’ve been rough.”

            “It was worse,” muttered Blaine miserably, allowing Sam to hold him. “Neither of us even did anything this time. It just sort of…fell apart.”

            There was a silence.

            Voice thick with emotion, Blaine said, “I didn’t know it wouldn’t work without you, Sam.”

            “That’s not it,” said Sam, shaking his head. “It’s not about that.”

            “You left, and we couldn’t deal with it. We got lonely.”

            “Dude.” Sam pulled away from Blaine, then slipped off the couch, kneeling before Blaine, staring straight into his eyes. “Blaine. Look at me. You and Kurt worked. It had nothing to do with me.”

            Blaine reached out as if to grasp Sam’s face. “ _Sam_ -”

            Sam took Blaine’s hands, guided them to his cheeks. “Yes, you included me,” he continued. “But I didn’t complete anything that wasn’t already there. You guys _worked_. Don’t ever doubt that.”

            He squeezed Blaine’s hand, then got up to sit back down on the sofa. This time Blaine was the one to reach out to him, and Sam wrapped his arms around him, and they sat there on that couch in the Dalton Warblers council room until there were no more tears in Blaine’s eyes.

\----

            In New York, it was raining.

            The loft had gotten pretty lonely in the past six months. At first, Kurt had entertained the idea of looking for another roommate, but then his internship at Vogue got bumped into a part-time paid position, and he still worked a few hours at the diner, so he had enough saved up to get by for a few months on his own. Those months were quickly running out, and he dreaded the idea of finding a new roommate. There were too many memories made up there in the loft, full of friendship and love and intimacy. He did not want to let someone else – someone completely new – invade that space.

            Kurt had been carrying around an umbrella for the past few days, as the weather reports kept predicting light showers. Naturally, though, no rain had actually fallen until Kurt stood outside waiting, cold and miserable despite the slight protection the umbrella provided.

            Rachel wasn’t there. Of course. Kurt wasn’t surprised at that; as far as he knew she was shut away from the world, horrified at the complete failure of her awful TV show. Kurt didn’t blame her – he would’ve done the same thing.

            Artie and Mercedes weren’t there either. Again, Kurt could understand. Mercedes’s album had exploded, and she was busy being a minor celebrity in LA – in fact, she’d been the only one to contact him to let him know she couldn’t make it. She’d sent a letter along with a signed copy of her album, covered with cute little stickers and drawn-on hearts. The two of them hadn’t been that close in a long time, but lately Kurt had found himself desperately missing her. She had been his best friend, and she deserved all the fame and recognition she was getting, but a part of him wished she would just come back to New York and live with him. Just so he wouldn’t be alone.

            Apparently one of Artie’s films had been accepted into a prestigious film festival upstate. He too would not be coming.

            Deep inside, Kurt secretly held onto the hope that this was the moment Blaine would come back to him. That was the only possible way that the rain wouldn’t be so terrible – a reunion kiss in the rain à la _The Notebook_ would be the perfect ending. But as the minutes wore on, and on, and on, it became clear that Blaine was not going to show. Kurt never should have expected him to. Neither of them had been happy when he left. When things ended between them. Permanently.

            Kurt was cold and a little angry but mostly just upset and hurt. How dare they leave him this way. After _everything_ he’d been through, didn’t he deserve a break? Didn’t he deserve a loving relationship with the man of his dreams? Why had he gone and screwed it up? He regretted, now, every pressure he had hung over Blaine, ever harsh word he’d allowed to pass his lips.

            And yet he hadn’t even had enough courage to call Blaine and make his case. He had texted him once, but, terrified of what Blaine might say, he had left it very ambiguous, a slight opening which would’ve allowed Blaine to come back to New York if he wanted, if he, like Kurt, realized what fools they had been.

            It hadn’t worked. Blaine had sounded perfectly fine. This devastated Kurt.

            He looked at his watch. He’d been standing out in the cold and the rain, all by himself, for twenty minutes now. This was pathetic. He was a joke. With a sigh, he turned around, heading back towards the stairs to the loft.

            Through the heavy rainfall, someone shouted something. Kurt, used to the pace and bustle of New York City by now, ignored them. In the low light, overcast with rain, he was having some difficulty fitting the key into the lock; he narrowed his eyes and fiddled with it, annoyed, as someone shouted again, and then a third time, and Kurt stopped short, frozen, because he could’ve sworn whoever it was just called his name.

            Slowly, he turned around.

            Panting for breath, soaked to the bone with no umbrella in his hands or even a decent jacket around his shoulders, Sam Evans stood there at the base of the stairs before Kurt, looking up at him.

            Voice raised against the rain, he said, “Hi.”

            “Sam,” said Kurt, stunned. “Oh my God-” he hurried down the steps, immediately covering Sam with his umbrella. “You must be freezing, why don’t you have a _coat_?”

            “I didn’t bring any luggage or anything,” replied Sam, teeth chattering. “I’m only here for a day or two and I didn’t think it’d be that cold-”

            “Didn’t you even _look_ at the weather forecast!”

            Ruefully, Sam should his head. “I…should’ve done that.”

            “Yes,” said Kurt firmly. “You should’ve. Now come in, oh my God, before you catch hypothermia and die.”

            They headed into the loft, where Kurt insisted Sam take off his wet shirt, wrapped him up in a warm comforter, and then sat him down at the table while Kurt made some hot tea. “Sorry I’m late,” said Sam, still shivering. “I had to use the subway, and I’ve never actually used it without Blaine’s maps, so I got really lost.”

            “You could’ve called me,” said Kurt sympathetically, pouring some tea, then spooning sugar into it, as he knew Sam liked.

            “I tried, but there’s no reception underground.”

            This was a fair point. Kurt fetched a towel from the bathroom and began drying Sam’s short hair. “Your hair’s so dark now,” he noted mildly. “Why lose the blond? Trying to pass as straight?”

            He punctuated this with a knowing grin, and Sam returned it warmly. “I quit it with the lemon juice, and it hasn’t been that sunny in Lima, so. No natural highlights.”

            “Shame. It was a good look for you. If you want, we could lighten it here before you leave.”

            “Yeah, maybe.”

            There was a short silence.

            Then, although it sounded like he already knew the answer, Sam asked: “I was the only one who showed up, wasn’t I?”

            Kurt didn’t answer right away, only pressed the towel into Sam’s hair mechanically. “Yes,” he admitted, finally. “I’m…disappointed. To say the least.”

            “Damn,” said Sam, sounding genuinely distressed. “I knew Blaine wasn’t coming, but I figured maybe Rachel. Or Mercedes.”

            “At least Mercedes let me know she couldn’t make it.”

            “She told me too, but she…she said she really wished she could.”

            Kurt sensed the emotion in Sam’s words, the longing there. “Are you two…?”

            “No. But we’re so far apart, and our lives are so different now… Friends is probably better.”

            Coming from anyone else in the same situation, Kurt might’ve taken that as a deliberate jab at him, reminding him that he and Blaine were over and that it was a waste of time to sit around and wish for him back. From Sam, however, Kurt doubted there was any ulterior motive. The best thing about Sam had always been how real and honest and direct he was. After suffering through a breakup that happened mostly, Kurt thought, because he and Blaine failed to communicate as openly as they should have, it was like a breath of fresh air. A reminder of how good at it they used to be.

            “Not seeing anyone in Lima?” asked Kurt smartly, swallowing his sudden rush of emotions.

            “Nope. How ‘bout you?”

            “Um, no. Not quite there yet.”

            “Yeah. How are you doing?”

            “I’m…”

            Miserable. Directionless. Like he was floating nebulously through the wind, lost and empty and as breakable as glass. He could not, with words, express to Sam the way he was feeling.

            So he settled with: “I’m fine,” even though it was a lie.

            It didn’t seem like such a terrible lie to tell, especially because he got the feeling Sam knew he wasn’t being entirely truthful.

            He finished drying Sam’s hair as best he could, then poured himself a mug of tea, and sat down beside Sam. They sipped their hot drinks in silence.

            “How’s school?” asked Sam.

            Kurt shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m not the one who dropped out, anyway. How’s McKinley?”

            Sam considered this question for a moment. “Different in a lot of ways,” he answered seriously. “But also pretty much the same.”

            “Well,” murmured Kurt, “that’s what they say about home, isn’t it? It stays the same. You’re the one who changes.”

            “I thought that’s what Matthew McConaughey said about high school girls.”

            There was a beat of silence, and then Kurt giggled, and the giggle turned into a laugh. Sam grinned dopily at him, enjoying the sight. “It’s essentially the same concept,” Kurt assured him, amused. “Although, please tell me you haven’t hooked up with any cheerleaders since you got back.”

            “No, gross. Even if they’re over eighteen there’s still a fundamentally unbalanced power dynamic when it comes to adult relationships with high school students.”

            Kurt took a bitter sip of his tea. “That sounds like something Blaine would say.”

            “He did,” said Sam. “The first time I did that impression in front of him. It was actually before we were even really friends, he came on really strong.”

            “Yeah,” said Kurt, nodding his head as if lost in a memory. “He can be like that.”

            Outside, rain fell like a constant hum on the roof, splattering across the window, leaving the poorly-insulated loft cold and drafty.

            Sam leaned in and kissed Kurt.

            He pulled away. Kurt’s eyes, half-closed, lingered on Sam’s lips. Sam watched him cautiously, almost as if worried. Waiting.

            Voice barely above a breath, Kurt whispered, “…Green.”

            For a single moment, they didn’t move.

            And then Sam surged forwards, taking Kurt’s face gently in his hands, breathing sighs of relief into one another’s mouth. Never quite pulling apart, they awkwardly got to their feet then stumbled towards Kurt’s bed – Sam, shirtless already, was ahead of the game, but it didn’t take much time for Kurt to follow him, the touch of their bodies producing friction and heat even in the chilly dreariness of the empty loft.

            As they always had done before, they went slow: kisses lingered, touches dragged down skin, and the urgency of their desire was eclipsed by the abyssal absence between them, the giant gay elephant in the bed with them. Kurt and Sam had made out and fooled around together before, but rarely had it been the two of them without Blaine participating somehow, either in between them or on one side or, on one memorable occasion, just lying in the bed with them, eyes wide, lips wet, watching.

            At this memory, the deep pull of arousal jolted through Kurt’s body, and he pulled away only slightly, slipping out of the rest of his clothes, tugging at the waistband of Sam’s pants as well. Once they had discarded all their clothes – despite the fact that it had been months since they did this together, there was very little self-consciousness between them, as familiar as they were with one another’s bodies at this point – Sam automatically reached for the lube he knew was kept in the drawer of the bedside table. He opened the drawer, long fingers searching for the bottle, and then he stopped and pulled away from Kurt, and raised one eyebrow.

            A blush rose to Kurt’s face, deepening the pink of his flushed skin. “Sorry,” he said thickly. “I just – it’s been a while, I haven’t been – intimate with-”

            “Okay,” said Sam, trying to blink through the fog of arousal and think. “Okay. What about your moisturizing stuff?”

            “ _Sam_ ,” Kurt sounded scandalized and offended. “That costs ninety dollars a tub, you can’t use it as _lube_ -”

            “Olive oil!” said Sam immediately. “Apparently it works great, Blaine read it in a fanfiction once-”

            “It’s okay, Sam,” sighed Kurt. “We just – we won’t go too far. Alright?”

            Sam looked up at him. It occurred to him that he didn’t know anybody else with blue eyes like Kurt, so clear and crystal they might be silver. “Yeah,” he breathed.

            They were both happy to discover that their bodies had not lost the familiarity and rhythm that they used to know, and they were deep in frantic mid-kiss when Kurt lost his breath, and Sam’s wide hands clenched pale skin, a shudder of pleasure running down their spines and between them as slick and sharp as lightning, like a simultaneous gasp at the same frightening sight.

            Afterwards – as Kurt was wont to do, he cleaned up neatly and quickly – they settled into the bed together, snuggling underneath the covers, warm and content.

            For a while, neither of them said anything. Again, they both felt Blaine’s absence, and although they said nothing, their silence was an acknowledgement of its own.

            Then Kurt turned his head to look at Sam’s face, eyes closed peacefully in the low light, and he asked, “Can I ask you something?”

            “Yes,” said Sam, glancing down at Kurt with one half-lidded eye. “I am totally down for round two.”

            “That’s not it. Well,” said Kurt, considering this. “Maybe in a minute or two. But I have a real question.”

            “Okay.”

            Kurt didn’t ask it immediately. He reached out and traced the line of Sam’s jaw with his forefinger, up his chin, then across his lips. Without opening his eyes, Sam parted his lips and slipped two of Kurt’s fingers into his mouth. The sensation was incredibly erotic, but in that intoxicatingly romantic way which left Kurt more breathless than aroused in the traditional sense.

            He removed his fingers from Sam’s mouth and placed his hand on Sam’s bare chest, leaning in to place his head in the crook of Sam’s shoulder. “That first time,” he said quietly. “On Skype. With you and Blaine.”

            “Yeah.”

            Kurt watched Sam’s face, his hand lain protectively over his heart. “You cried,” said Kurt.

            “Yeah,” said Sam. “I did, didn’t I?”

            “Why?”

            Sam didn’t answer this right away. He considered it slowly, letting his thoughts swirl around his head, trying to pick out the words to explain this to Kurt. To explain it, even, to himself.

            “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “You knew I was crying before I did, remember?”

            Kurt did remember. He could remember that moment, immensely turned on, brought even closer to the edge by the low rumble in Blaine’s voice as he had told Sam that he loved him. Kurt could remember watching Sam’s face, then everything slowing down as he squinted at the screen uncertainly. At first it hadn’t registered in Kurt’s brain that those were tears dripping down Sam’s face, and then all of the sudden it had hit him all at once. Blaine hadn’t noticed either, not until Kurt stopped him.

            “I was just wondering,” said Kurt, “if maybe there was – I don’t know. Something you weren’t telling us.”

            Sam shook his head. “It wasn’t sad crying. And…I’ve never had, like, a bad experience with sex. It’s always been pretty good.”

            “No PTSD or anything?”

            “No.”

            “Then what was it, do you think?”

            Sam shrugged.

            “Blaine saying I love you?”

            “He’d said it before that. I don’t know, Kurt. It was just…a really vulnerable moment, I guess. Being there with Blaine, you watching. It was…intimate. Like you guys really trusted me.”

            Kurt watched him. “We did trust you,” he said. “We do.”

            Sam glanced down at him, a little smile on his face. “You do,” he said.

            Kurt did his best to return the smile.

            “Now can I ask you something?” Sam asked.

            Kurt nodded.

            Shifting in bed so that he slung an arm around Kurt’s shoulders, pulling him in close, Sam asked, “What happened with Blaine? It was something really bad, wasn’t it? He seems weird and distant and kind of like I don’t know him anymore.” He hesitated, then added, “I know for a while he stopped taking his medicine… Did something happen?”

            Like Sam, Kurt took a long time to answer this question. But unlike Sam, however, he did not seem to dwell on it, carefully considering the question. On the contrary, he looked uncomfortable. He squirmed slightly against Sam’s body.

            Then, finally, he had to admit it.

            “No,” he said, with the air of someone who had been keeping a secret for too long. “That’s the worst part, Sam. Nothing happened. He even found a new doctor out here so he wouldn’t have to go home all the time, and he was really stable, and doing really well, and if you didn’t know better you wouldn’t have been able to tell he had any problems at all. So nothing happened, Sam. We just started talking about the wedding, about where our life would lead us next, together, and then…”

            Kurt shook his head, his eyes far away.

            “We just couldn’t handle the pressure,” he said simply. “I wish I had a better story, Sam. I really do. But it turns out, in the end…we’re just like everybody else.”

            Sam lowered his face to Kurt’s and kissed him. “No you’re not,” he said.

            Kurt didn’t have the energy to argue.

            “We’re pretty pathetic, aren’t we?” he asked, looking up at Sam with a weak smile. “Seems like the rest of our friends have moved on with their lives, and here we are…right back where we started.”

            “Hey,” said Sam, holding him. “At least you’re not back at high school, like me and Blaine.”

            There was a beat of silence. “Why is Blaine at McKinley?” asked Kurt, pulling away and twisting around to look at Sam.

            “He’s not,” answered Sam. “He’s directing the Warblers at Dalton.”

            “ _Dalton_?” echoed Kurt, genuinely betrayed.

            “I know,” said Sam. He wanted to add, “And that’s not even the worst part,” but he didn’t. He suspected that was not his news to break.

            Kurt fell silent, but it was a different silence from before: this one was more calculated, brighter, so alive that Sam could practically hear the whirring of Kurt’s mind at work inside his head.

            “Uh oh,” said Sam. “I know that look. That’s your scheming look. You’re scheming something. What are you scheming, Kurt?”

            “What?” asked Kurt innocently. “Nothing.”

            “Kurt.”

            “It’s nothing,” answered Kurt dismissively, shaking his head. “Forget about it.”

            “Are you sure?” asked Sam seriously. “Because I _am_ a superhero, you know. And the Blonde Chameleon loves a good scheme.”

            Kurt considered this for a long moment.

            And then, slowly, a smile broke out across his face.

\----

            When the plane landed, Sam’s mom was there to pick him up, with Stevie and Stacey. All three of them were ecstatic to see Kurt, and they offered to take him home, but Kurt politely declined. He would head home later: the first thing he had to do was get a cab directly to Rachel Berry’s house.

            “He seems to be in a good place about it,” she assured him, although he didn’t like the fact that she seemed to lack the trademark Rachel confidence and conviction he had become so accustomed to. Still, it was a good thing. Rachel agreed to reach out to Blaine, and before Kurt knew it he was set to meet up with him at Scandals.

            The night he was going to meet with Blaine, Kurt sat before the mirror in his old room, carefully applying the mint julep lip balm he knew Blaine liked so much. From his computer came the songs of his newest Broadway playlist, compiled since he moved to New York.

            A song started, and Kurt let out a sigh of appreciation. He had never _felt_ this song as deeply as he did at this moment.

            He caught his own eye in the mirror. And he couldn’t stop himself.

 

_I could wander Paris after dark_

_Take a carriage ride through Central Park_

_But it wouldn’t be as nice as a summer in Ohio_

_Where I’m sharing a room with a former stripper, and his ex:_

_Blaine_

            He got to his feet. He felt good about tonight. Last time he and Blaine were at Scandals together, Blaine had been horny enough to try and do it in the backseat of Kurt’s car.

 

_I could be in line to be the British queen_

_Look like I was seventeen_

_Still I’m certain I’d prefer to be going slowly batty_

_Forty miles east of Cincinnati_

 

            Maybe the location would jog Blaine’s memory, and he wouldn’t be able to resist himself, and then they could be back off to New York by the weekend.

 

_I could shove an ice pick in my eye_

_I could eat some fish from last July_

_But it wouldn’t be as awful as a summer in Ohio_

_Without cable, hot water, Vietnamese food_

_Or you_

 

            After so long in the Big Apple, Lima felt small and claustrophobic, and he had this deep fear he couldn’t shake that he might run into someone he graduated with, someone who might remember him only by his flamboyant outfits or girlish voice or, God forbid, the whole Prom Queen incident.

            Sartre, thought Kurt, had been essentially right, although fundamentally unspecific enough. Yes, Hell was other people; but in particular, Hell was the other residents of Lima, Ohio.

 

_No, it’s not Nirvana, but it’s on the way_

_I play Anita at the matinee_

_Then I’ll get on my knees, and pray I can state in my next bio:_

_“I’m never gonna go back to Ohio!”_

            With one more once-over in the mirror, Kurt was confident he looked hot as hell. He headed out to the car, the song still knocking around his head; he plugged in his iPod, and the music filled the enclosed space of the car, and he drove.

 

_I could chew on tin foil for a spell_

_I could get a root canal in hell_

_But it wouldn’t be as swell as this summer is gonna be!_

            He turned into the Scandals parking lot. He didn’t see Blaine’s familiar station wagon, but maybe his parents had finally gotten him a new car. Kurt parked, turned off the music, and took one last glance in his mirror to make sure he still looked good – he did, of course – and then he got out.

 

_‘Cause the torture is just exquisite, while I’m waiting for you to visit_

_So hurry up, schmuck, get unstuck, and get on the scene…_

 

            Kurt strode towards the entrance. By the end of the night, he was sure, everything would be right once more.

\----

            Burt was ecstatic to have Kurt home, and they’d spent the past few days spending time with each other, Kurt attempting to watch sports with his father, Burt attempting to bake with his son, like they used to be. But after a few days, Burt had needed to return to D.C. to act out his duties as a Congressman. Carole stayed in Lima, with Kurt.

            So when he drove home, numb and all cut up inside, having slipped out the back of the club straight from the restroom where he had collapsed into tears, his father wasn’t there.

            It was late; Carole was probably asleep. Kurt let himself in and closed the door behind him very slowly, still trying to process everything he’d just discovered. Winning Blaine back wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought it’d be. He didn’t know if it was possible anymore, not because he didn’t love Blaine, which he did, or because they weren’t made for each other, which they were – but the fact that Blaine had so quickly moved on to someone like _Dave Karofksy_ , someone so antithetical to Kurt he might as well be a different species altogether. That was troubling.

            And the most urgent question still haunted him, tumbling around his mind like a pinball in a machine: _Since when did Blaine like bears?!_

Unable to get all the way to his room, Kurt collapsed on the couch. He didn’t think this would ever sink in, not really. Blaine was the love of Kurt’s life, but a fear gripped him so intensely that he could hardly breathe: what if _he_ wasn’t the love of _Blaine’s_ life?

            Caught up in his own panic as he was, Kurt didn’t hear someone else enter the room. “Kurt?” came Carole’s voice; she sounded far away, even as she sat down on the couch beside him. “I heard your car… Are you all right?”

            Given that he was near tears, anticipating them to burst at any moment, Kurt figured that she could deduce the answer to that question on her own. When she reached out to envelop him in a hug, his breath shallow and shaky, he flinched away and held up a hand. “Okay,” he said, taking deep breaths. “I’m not okay. I actually think I’m having a panic attack right now, so.”

            Her eyes widened and, helplessly, she reached out to take hold of him once more, but he said, “Okay okay, it’s okay, it’s happened before, just. Give me some space.”

            She sat still beside him, watching him carefully.

            After a few minutes of slow, deep breaths, Kurt finally said, “Alright. I could really use a hug right now.”

            Dutifully, she obliged, wrapping him in her arms. “What’s wrong?” she asked, the care in her voice deep and sincere. “What happened?”

            It hurt to think about, but Kurt didn’t think he could stop thinking about it unless he forced catharsis by saying it out loud, so he did. “It’s Blaine,” he said shortly. “He’s…” he stopped, the words catching in his throat. “He’s…moved on.”

            Carole rubbed Kurt’s back soothingly. “I’m sorry,” she said.

            “How could he do this to me?” asked Kurt, distraught. “He _knows_ how much he means to me, he knows how much I love him…how could this _happen_?”

            “Kurt,” said Carole gently. “I hate to break this to you, honey, but you two broke up. He’s free to go and live his own life.” Kurt opened his mouth to argue, but she added, “And so are you. I know you want him back, but sometimes things just don’t work out. And who knows? It could be for the best. You have your whole life in front of you.”

            “But I _love_ him-”

            “That doesn’t mean you’re meant to be together,” she said, with a sad smile. “Trust me on this one, honey. I’ve got years of experience on you. And you’re not the only one who feels this way. Everyone has one, Kurt, that earth-shattering romance that just doesn’t work out. The one that got away.”

            Kurt wiped his eyes, finally pulling away from Carole. He sniffed, then looked up at her.

            Wryly, he asked, “You’re not expecting me to burst into song right now, are you?”

            Carole laughed. “I have to admit, I was kind of hoping you would.”

            “The one by Katy Perry or the Civil Wars?”

            “Honey, I was thinking of the Tom Waits song…”

            Kurt wiped at his eyes.

            “I don’t know who that is,” he said. Then he caught Carole’s eye, and she laughed, and so did he, and they hugged again, and it finally begun to dawn that maybe this wasn’t the end of the world, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK if I'll ever write more but I've been sitting on this chapter and wanted to get it out. Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Will start including songs in future chapters lmfao. Please comment if you have any suggestions!


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